The Potter Brand
by JBean210
Summary: In August 1995, Harry helps a stranger in Little Whinging and is given the Star Brand in return, a mysterious artifact of immense power that can solve the Voldemort problem in no time. But things are always more complicated than they appear! Complete.
1. A Stranger Appears

**Author's Note: This story begins on August 2, 1995, at the start of events occurring in **_**Order of the Phoenix**_**. Harry helps someone who seems in need, and discovers that being a Good Samaritan can have interesting — and unexpected — consequences. If you've ever read any Star Brand comics, either from the 1980's or the later versions, you'll probably recognize one of the characters you meet in the first chapter.**

The Potter Brand

Chapter 1

"A Stranger Appears"

Harry Potter walked aimlessly along Magnolia Road with almost no conscious thought of where he was going. Like the temperature this early August evening, his temper was hot — he'd run from his aunt and uncle's house on Privet Drive minutes earlier, after they'd berated him for secretly listening to the news from under their open living room window. According to _them_, Harry thought scathingly, he should be more like their son, Dudley, who didn't give a fig about the news. Imagine, a teenaged boy wanting to watch the news, instead of staying up in his room, hidden away from the rest of the world! But then, according to Vernon and Petunia Dursley, the less seen of Harry, the better. They only knew that if Harry wanted to know something, they wanted him kept away from knowing it.

What Vernon and Petunia Dursley _didn't_ know, didn't _want_ to know, was that Harry was as desperate to know what was going on in the Muggle world, if not more so, than they were. He had been feverishly trying to find out whether anything unusual or strange that might be happening around Britain because of what had happened, just over a month ago.

_Lord Voldemort had returned_.

Not that anyone in the Wizarding world seemed to be paying attention, however. Harry had been reading the _Daily Prophet_ headlines for the past month, waiting for news of Voldemort's return to appear, but amazingly, infuriatingly, there'd been no mention of it. Just as infuriating, his friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were both "busy somewhere," and couldn't spare a moment to write and tell him what they'd been up to since they'd returned from Hogwarts. He'd received vague, pointless letters from them, and equally useless notes from his godfather, Sirius Black, about their activities since returning home, all of them promising to see him "any day now." Ironically, his devil-may-care, risk-taking godfather had advised him to "be careful, and don't do anything rash…"

The only rash Harry had was the one on his legs from lying on the ground beneath his aunt and uncle's living room window night after night, trying to hear to the news. Tonight, finally, something had happened, but not on the news — there'd been a weird cracking noise as he'd tried to crawl away after the news, and he'd jumped up, believing someone was trying to Apparate into the house. He'd hit his head on the window sill and his uncle had caught him and yelled at him for not being a normal teenager, wanting to listen to news rather than running all over the neighborhood, like his cousin, Dudley, vandalizing stuff — not that his parents would believe a word of anything like that — they believed ickle Diddy was a perfect angel. Harry had left before he began shouting and got himself into more trouble than he already was.

Walking up Magnolia Road, Harry found himself by the play park that was about a quarter-mile north of Magnolia Crescent. The gate was locked, but Harry vaulted it easily and walked across the parched grass to the swings, one of which Dudley and his gang hadn't yet managed to break. He sat there in the gathering gloom, frustrated and angry by the injustice of his situation. Ron and Hermione were off somewhere, doing who-knew-what, probably with Ron's parents or even Dumbledore himself, all the while advising him to sit tight, keep his head, down, and above all, _be careful_.

Would they have advised him to "be careful" when he fought Tom Riddle in the very shadow of his father's grave? Would they have told him to keep his head down when he recovered Cedric Diggory's body, to return it to his parents when his ghost (or memory, or whatever it had been) had materialized for a short time, from Voldemort's wand, as they fought? If Harry had not taken these risks and escaped from Voldemort, they would not even know that he was alive again!

Looking up into the clear night sky, Harry wondered when somebody — _anybody_ — was going to come collect him from Little Whinging so they could start _doing_ something about the Dark Lord. Surely at least Dumbledore, who had been utterly convinced by Harry's description of what had occurred in the graveyard in Little Hangleton, was planning something. Why wasn't he including Harry?

Suddenly, Harry realized that something strange was happening above him. A point of light high in the sky was growing steadily brighter, though there were no stars or planets that should be as visible as this one now was. As he watched, the light became even brighter, then dazzling — Harry shielded his eyes, yet all he could see was a brilliant flash, and felt a shudder run through the ground below him. Had a meteor struck the earth directly in front of him? There had been no explosion — only the flash of light and a shaking sensation.

Then Harry's eyes adjusted to the darkness once again, and what he saw made him gasp. A human figure knelt on the ground a dozen yards away — a being who seemed to shine by its own light, it was so pale — just as Voldemort had been, when Harry had first seen him revived in the Little Hangleton graveyard!

Harry's wand was out in a moment and pointing towards the figure. He approached slowly, his hands trembling. The being was unclothed — it seemed naked and defenseless — but looks could be deceiving, especially if this was Voldemort. It did not move at his approach, but remained on one knee, its arms at its sides, its head bowed.

Now, only a few feet away, Harry could see that the grass surrounding the figure had been scorched black; it was darker even than the parched brown grass of the play park, which had not been watered for many days now. It was a man, Harry could see, and he was as white as Voldemort had been when he'd returned completely to life. But it wasn't Voldemort, Harry saw at last.

"Who — who are you?" he asked. The man did not move. "Are you okay?" Harry asked. The man raised his head slowly. His head and face, like the rest of his body, were completely hairless — not even an eyelash or eyebrow was visible. Looking into his eyes, Harry somehow felt a sensed of weariness there, an emotion he shared in not knowing what was happening in the world outside Little Whinging. "Can — can I help you?" Harry asked him.

The man nodded slowly, then crossed his hands over his chest. A black material seemed to spread out from under them, covering and clothing him in some kind of jumpsuit. Could this man be a wizard, Harry wondered. He had wandlessly conjured the clothing he was now wearing, though it was like no wizard's robes he'd ever seen.

"Is this Earth?" the man asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Harry thought he'd heard incorrectly. "Pardon?"

"Am I on Earth?" the man said, more clearly. Harry nodded.

The man sighed, visibly relieved. "I thought I might have missed it," he explained, getting slowly to his feet. Standing, he was impressively tall —well over six feet in height, and smoothly muscled. He stared slowly around him. "Where on Earth am I?"

"This is Little Whinging, in Surrey," Harry told him, as the man began to look around more alertly. "It's southwest of London."

"What year is it?" the man asked, staring off into the distance.

"Uhhh…" _That was an odd question for a wizard to ask_, Harry thought. "It's 1995. August 2nd, 1995. How can you not know the year?" he asked. "Aren't — aren't you from Earth?"

The man looked down at him. In spite of the strangeness of his appearance, his expression was calm and there was a small smile on his lips. "Are you afraid of me?" he asked Harry, placing a white hand gently on his shoulder.

"No," Harry said automatically, but he'd flinched as the man touched him. Then, "Well, yes. A bit. I don't understand how you got here." Harry pointed upward. "There was a star up there, a white light getting brighter and brighter."

"There was?" the man said, looking upward. "Really?"

Harry looked up as well. He searched the sky for a several seconds. "It's gone now. And here you are. I thought at first you were hurt…"

"I was nearly drained," the man admitted, looking back toward Harry. "I used a significant amount of energy decelerating when I landed. To answer your earlier question, Harry Potter, yes, I am from Earth. But I have been away for some time."

"How — how do you know my name?" Harry asked, with a combination of curiosity and apprehension. Had the man recognized his lightning scar?

"I read your thoughts just now, when I touched you," the man said, letting go of Harry's shoulder. "I apologize for the intrusion, but it seemed simpler than spending time asking questions — time is a luxury we don't have much of, at the moment."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused. "Why don't we —"

"Oi! Potter!" The shout came from across the play park, where a group of boys on the other side of the gate were staring at them. It was Dudley and his gang, Harry realized, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Piers Polkiss, one of Dudley's cronies, had called out his name. "What're you doing?" Polkiss continued. "Having a date with your boyfriend?" The others laughed uproariously at this, and the group jumped over the gate in ones and twos and began walking toward them, laughing and joking crudely about Harry with one another.

_This was not good_, Harry thought, becoming even more upset. When he'd been alone, he was angry and frustrated enough to welcome a fight with Dudley's gang, especially with Dudley at the head of it. Dudley would have to act the big man in front of his friends, but Harry knew his cousin was terrified of him and his "thing," his wand, even if Harry wasn't supposed to use it outside of school. He moved his wand so it was behind him, out of view of Dudley's gang, as they walked toward them.

Now he could see the nervousness on Dudley's face as the group approached. Dudley wasn't happy to find Harry here in the play park; his gang had just assumed he would want to bully Harry, even if he wasn't alone. Harry also believed the stranger was a wizard of some kind, but possibly confused about who or where he was. Perhaps he had escaped from St. Mungo's, the wizard hospital, though that didn't easily explain why he was in Little Whinging. In any event, Harry couldn't let Dudley's gang harm the man, even if he had to use magic to protect him. Surely the underage restrictions would allow at least _that_ much latitude in the use of magic in front of Muggles!

The group of boys came to a halt a few yards from them. Piers was smirking at both of them. "What do you reckon they were doing, Big D?" he drawled, looking at Dudley, who was trying to appear cocky and in charge but was failing on both counts. "Out here in the play park, alone, this late at night?"

"I wouldn't want to guess," Dudley said, covering his apprehension with a sneer. "Potter," he said, trying to change the subject. "Did you see a flash of light around here a few minutes ago? It looked like something fell out of the sky."

"Nothing fell around here, Dudley," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Who's your friend, then?" Dudley wanted to know. "I thought maybe you finally wised up and got yourself a bodyguard. Or something," he added with a nasty grin.

"No," Harry shook his head. "He's just someone who was in the park when I got here. He's like me," he added, hoping that suggestion would discourage Dudley from tormenting them. If not, he would probably have to use his wand, whatever the consequences.

"Like _you_?" Piers sniggered. "You mean he's a foul little weasel, like you, Potter? Well, I guess he can't be _little_ like you, can he?" Even though Piers was thin and weedy, and the stranger taller and more solidly built than him, the evening darkness and having four large boys behind him had made Piers bold. The stranger had said nothing so far, and Piers, emboldened by this silence, swaggered up to him. Harry tensed, ready to use his wand if Piers or any of the other boys did anything violent.

"So what're you supposed to be, some kind of albino ninja or something?" Piers sneered, tugging at the black material covering the stranger's chest. "You got any chop-sockey moves to use on me, eh?" When the stranger didn't reply, Piers put his hand on the man's chest and pushed. The man didn't move.

"Aaah," Piers snorted. "You're not even worth knocking down. Right, big D?" he said over his shoulder, to Dudley.

"Right," Dudley said, a sneer in his voice, although Harry knew he was relieved Piers hadn't pressed for a fight. "Come on," Dudley said. "I'm getting bored with this. Let's go." The gang walked away, looking back at Harry and the stranger and laughing, then vaulted the gate and continued down Magnolia Road.

Harry relaxed when they were finally out of view. "That was lucky," he said to the stranger.

"It was not luck," the stranger told him, surprisingly. "I wanted them to talk to us; I wanted to see how other people here acted in your presence. You did very well, Harry Potter, anticipating that they might attack and yet, trying to deflect any such attack by avoiding aggressive behavior.

"My name," the man continued, "is Kenneth Connell. I was born on Earth, in Oklahoma, on July 31, 1980."

"Really?" Harry said, with a small smile. "I was born on that day, too."

"I know," Connell said. "I learned that when I read your mind, earlier. I also learned that you are a wizard, a human capable of using magic."

"Yes," Harry agreed, holding up his wand. "I thought you must be a wizard as well, to do the things I've seen you do. But you don't have a wand with you, do you?"

"I don't have a wand, it's true," Connell said, "I do have something much, much more useful, however.

"Where I came from, originally, there was no magic such as you are able to use, which means that my journey home is not yet complete. Yet, I sense that you and I are kindred spirits, Harry. Like you, I once saw a bright light in the sky, which brought me something I could not have imagined before I saw it. Having read your thoughts, I know your need is great, and your situation here is grim, with the return of the being you call Lord Voldemort." Harry nodded, surprised at how much the man had learned from him with a simple touch.

"Now, give me your right hand," Connell told him, extending his own. Harry stuck his wand in his back pocket and clasped hands with the stranger, wondering what to expect. "You need not be afraid, Harry. This will not hurt."

"I'm not afraid of that," Harry said. "I —" But before he could finish his statement, there was a bright flash between their hands, and Harry felt everything beginning to go gray, then black…

***

When Harry awoke, he was lying on his back, still in the play park. It was still dark; there was no way to tell how much time had passed. A blur on his left came into view, then resolved itself into the man who'd called himself Kenneth Connell. He reached down, helping Harry sit up.

"How do you feel, Harry?"

"Fine, I guess," Harry said, still a bit disoriented. "What happened? What — did you do?"

"The Brand normally causes unconsciousness when you first receive it, so I've been told," Connell replied. "But I was already unconscious when that happened to me, so I hadn't had any firsthand experience. Until now."

"The 'Brand'?" Harry repeated, uncomprehending. He looked down at himself. Had Connell branded him somehow, magically? He didn't feel like he'd been burned anywhere — though there was a peculiar, buoyant feeling running through him, like he'd eaten a particularly good bar of chocolate and was getting a good sugar rush. "What do you mean?"

"Look at your hand," Connell said. Harry looked, then stared, at the image he now saw in his hand. Eight black lines radiated outward from the center of his palm, each one tapering to a point. The lines running from his wrist to his fingers, and across his hand, were the longest; the other four lines, running diagonally, were a bit shorter. Joining seven of these lines was a crescent shape, its open end pointing left, about the same width as the lines. Harry touched it with his other hand — it felt warm to the touch, warmer than his flesh, but it was not scribed in ink or paint or anything he could discern. It seemed to be part of him, now.

"That is what I've learned is called the 'Star Brand,'" Connell told Harry, as he studied the symbol in his hand. "I first received it on March 1, 2006" — Harry looked up as Connell mentioned the date — "when a friend and I were out talking one night, on a hill outside Optima Springs, Oklahoma. We fell asleep, and when I woke up the next morning, that mark —" he pointed to the symbol in Harry's palm "— was branded on my forehead. And, an image of that symbol had been scorched into the grass around me."

"There was no sign of my friend," Connell went on, his voice becoming subdued. "The only thing I found of hers was the pair of shoes she'd been wearing the night before. I still don't know if she's alive or dead."

"I'm — I'm sorry," Harry said. He knew full well how much thing that affected him could affect others around him as well. The return of Voldemort had been ample testament to that. "What did you do? And why give this to _me_? What does it do?"

"A lot of questions," Connell smiled. "I had a lot of questions myself, when I first got the Brand, but there was no one around to answer them for me. So, I won't leave you in the same lurch I found myself in.

"For your first question — well, I've been doing a lot since that day. You probably noticed the date I mentioned this happened — it's nine years in the future from the date you mentioned earlier. We don't have much time so I'll be brief here — I eventually ended up in a galaxy several million light-years from here, and I've had to make my way home. It's taken me several thousand years to return."

"Galaxy? _Millions_ of light-years?" Harry was flabberghasted. "We've studied such things in Astronomy class, but I never really thought about the size of such things. And how can you have lived so long a time?"

"I won't go into that now," Connell said. "As I've said, time is short. To your second question: I've given you the Star Brand, Harry, because I see a need here, on this Earth, for a person with the qualities you have to possess a tool like this. You look surprised by that, but don't be. Just as your wand is a tool to help you focus your magical abilities, the Star Brand will help you focus the almost limitless power at its disposal."

"But what does it _do_?" Harry asked again, looking at the symbol in his hand.

"Ah, the final question." Connell seemed to stare into the distance for a moment, then looked back at Harry. "I must be brief. Basically, the Star Brand can do anything you can imagine."

"Anything?" Harry repeated. "I'm not sure I understand."

Connell gave him a wry look, a strange expression on a man with no facial hair. "I think 'anything' is a pretty inclusive term, Harry. If you can will a thing be done, it shall be done. For example: Hold up your left arm, and put your right palm on your forearm." Harry did so, then: "Now, will the Brand to move to your forearm." Harry concentrated for a second, and there was a glow of light under his palm. When he took his hand away, the Brand was now on his arm. The hair where the mark now showed had been burned away, though there had been no pain. "Now, reverse the process," Connell said, and a few seconds later the Brand was back in Harry's palm. There was a Brand-shaped patch of bare skin on his forearm.

There is only one thing you cannot do with the Star Brand, Harry," Connell cautioned him. "You cannot transfer it to an inanimate object. It must be bound to an intelligent being. To do otherwise would be disastrous. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," Harry nodded. "But I still don't understand what this is —"

"For now," Connell said, cutting him off, "just think of it as a potential solution to your problems. I'm going to leave you, Harry Potter, but I will return, to determine whether you are worthy of keeping the Brand, or whether someone else should wield it. Also, you should find your cousin Dudley — he is about to be in some danger at the moment. Farewell." Then, to Harry's astonishment, Connell turned and leapt into the sky, soaring away from him. Within seconds, he was out of sight.

Harry stood stock-still for several moments, trying to assimilate everything Connell had told him. This was all too fantastic, even more unbelievable than it had felt five years ago, when Hagrid had told him he was a wizard. Harry was quite willing to believe this was all a dream.

But, on the off-chance it wasn't, he should go find Dudley, and quickly, to see what kind of danger he was in, if any. Harry could hardly imagine anything more dangerous in Little Whinging than Dudley himself, and his gang. Still… he jogged across the park to the gates, vaulting them easily, then ran down Magnolia Road to Magnolia Crescent. He saw Dudley ahead, walking slowly; he was near the entrance to the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk, where he'd first seen Sirius. He turned, running toward his cousin. Normally he'd start to be winded by now — in the past, he had run _from_ Dudley, not toward him, but he hardly felt winded at all. "Hey, Big D!" Harry shouted, just as Dudley turned into the alleyway.

Dudley stopped, looking back to see who was coming, then grunted when he saw it was Harry. "Oh, it's you," he said, dully. "What happened to your boyfriend?"

"He was just some guy I thought needed some help," Harry said, getting annoyed. "Turns out he didn't need any."

"Right," Dudley snickered. "Didn't _want_ any, more likely."

"So how was tea with your mates tonight, Big D?" Harry asked, irritated. Both of them knew perfectly well that the "teas" he told his parents he was going to were lies — Dudley and his gang were out vandalizing the play park or terrorizing younger kids.

"Shut it," Dudley said, and turned away.

"So who'd you beat up tonight?" Harry went on, enjoying Dudley's discomfort. "Another ten-year old? I heard you did Mark Evans two nights ago —"

Dudley looked back at him, scowling. "He asked for it — he cheeked me. Just like you're cheeking me now."

"But you're not going to try and beat me up, are you?" Harry taunted him. "No matter how much you want to, eh?"

"Don't tempt me."

"What's to stop you? Here I am, what's stopping you?" In his irritation, Harry had forgotten that his cousin was supposed to be in danger. Well, maybe he was, if he planned on hitting Harry. Yeah, Harry would like to see him try it!

Dudley's ham-like hands were clenched into fists. It looked like it was taking all his self-control to keep from hitting Harry. "You think you're a big man, do you, carrying that…thing?" Dudley snarled, after a few seconds.

"What thing?"

"You know — _that_ thing."

Harry grinned. He pulled out his wand. "Oh, _this_ thing, you mean. My wand."

"You're not allowed to use it," Dudley said at once. "You'll get expelled from your freak school."

"You think? Well maybe I'm allowed to use it, if someone attacks me — say, if you take a swing at me. You'd like to do that, wouldn't you?" Harry was enjoying this immensely.

"No," Dudley said. It was obvious he was lying.

"Why not?" Harry sneered. "Won't I be as much fun as a ten-year old? Not much fun hitting someone who'll hit back, is it, Dudley?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" snarled Dudley, stopping and glaring at him.

Harry snorted laughter. "This _is_ night, Big D. It's what happens when the sun goes down and it get dark."

"I mean when you're in bed!" Dudley snapped.

What was Dudley gibbering about? "What d'you mean? Am I supposed to be scared of pillows or what?"

"I heard you last night," Dudley said, his voice turning triumphant, as if he'd found Harry's weak spot. "You were talking in your sleep, _moaning_."

Harry's stomach plunged. He'd dreamed last night about Voldemort being reborn, in the Little Hangleton graveyard. "What d'you mean?"

"'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!'" Dudley mimicked, in a high-pitched voice, mocking Harry. "Maybe _Cedric's_ your boyfriend, then!"

"You're lying," Harry snarled, but he knew Dudley spoke the truth. How else would he know about Cedric Diggory being killed? Harry's wand was pointed at Dudley before he realized he'd done so. Fourteen years of being taunted and beaten by his cousin was pounding in his brain. And now he was mocking Cedric's death! It was almost more than Harry could bear.

Dudley's eyes were wide. "Point that thing somewhere else!"

"Don't _ever_ talk about that again," Harry snarled. "D'you hear me? I'm warning you!"

"Point it somewhere else!" Dudley shouted.

"DO YOU HEAR ME?" Harry roared.

"POINT IT SOMEWHERE ELSE!" Dudley roared back.

As the words to a curse tickled his tongue, Harry realized with a start — Dudley _was_ in danger — from _him_! His anger evaporated, and he lowered his wand.

Dudley, seeing the wand no longer pointed at him, turned and bolted down the alleyway. Harry nearly laughed to watch his cousin's vast bottom jiggle as he ran, but before Dudley had run a dozen feet he stopped, gasping. Just as Harry started to ask him if he'd run out of breath already, a sudden, unnatural coldness descended upon him, while the stars and surrounding lights went out.

It was as if he'd been suddenly thrown into a pitch-black freezer. Along with the cold and darkness came a sensation of impending doom, a feeling like he'd never be happy again. Harry gasped.

There was only one thing that made you feel this way.

"What — what are you doing?" Dudley gasped. "Stop it! I'll tell Dad!"

"Get a grip, Dudley!" Harry snapped. "I'm not doing it!" If he was right about what was causing this, both he and Dudley were in danger. He started moving toward the sound of his cousin's voice. "We need to get out of here, Dudley!"

"I can't see anything! I'm blind! Make it stop!" Dudley moaned. "It's awful!"

"I'm not doing it!" Harry said again. He had gone blind as well. "Just shut up and let me find you —"

WHAM.

One of Dudley's ham-like fists had caught Harry on the side of his head, knocking him to the ground.

"Damn it, Dudley!" Harry shouted. "Stop it! _I'm not doing it_!" Dudley began screaming, and Harry said "_Lumos_!" The tip of his wand erupted in light, and he could see Dudley flailing sightlessly, a dozen feet away. He also heard something, a sound that made his heart nearly freeze with dread: the raspy, rattling breath of a dementor, the creature that had caused their vision loss and the coldness that had fallen. The sound had come from beyond Dudley, out of range of his wand's light.

Then he heard the rasp again, this time behind him. _There were two of them_! Harry lurched to his feet, spinning around and holding his wand high, just as the dementor from behind him came into view: a hooded, towering figure of black, it glided, faceless and footless, toward him. Harry pointed his wand and shouted, "_Expecto Patronum_!"

A wisp of silvery mist sprayed from the tip of his wand, slowing the dementor slightly, but he'd spoken the charm automatically, without putting intent behind the words. It was nearly upon him, and Harry tried to move away, but tripped and sprawled on his back. He tried to roll, but a pair of hands — gray, slimy, scabbed hands — slid from under the dementor's robes, reaching for Harry's throat. He needed to _concentrate_ his will —

His will! _If you can will a thing be done, it shall be done_. As the dementor's hands gripped his throat, Harry pointed the wand where its chest would be, and exerted his will. "_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!"

A flash of silver light blasted from his wand, dazzling Harry. His vision blanked out for a second. When it cleared, a moment later, the dementor was gone. Harry stared around wildly, trying to find it, but it was as if it had never been there. There was a shuddering wail behind him.

_Dudley_! Harry leaped to his feet, racing down the alleyway. He'd only gone a dozen steps before he found his cousin, curled up on the ground, his hands clamped across his face, as the second dementor, its gray, scabbed hands on Dudley's wrists, slowly prised them apart.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" Harry said again, this time with more control, and a silver stag burst from the tip of his wand, bearing down on the dementor. The light shining from it was dazzling, and the dementor immediately released Dudley and zoomed away, the stag galloping after it until it rose into the sky, disappearing into the gloom. A moment later, the silver stag dissolved, and the unnatural darkness that had enshrouded them since the appearance of the dementors faded, restoring the night sky and sounds of Little Whinging to normalcy.

Whatever the symbol on his hand was, Harry realized, it had been, at least in part, enabled him to create a Patronus and escape the dementors. Dudley, laying on the ground, whimpering and shaking, hadn't been so lucky. The warm evening was back, but Dudley's skin was cold and clammy to the touch, Harry discovered, kneeling beside him. He was going to have to get his cousin home, somehow.

And now Harry heard footsteps from beyond the end of the alley, only a few yards away. He held his wand up, ready in case of a new threat, but saw it was only Mrs. Figg, their batty old neighbor, coming panting into view. Her hair, gray and frazzled, poked out from under the hairnet she constantly wore. A string shopping bag hung from her wrist, and her tartan carpet slippers flapped on her feet as came toward them. Harry made to put his away, in his back pocket, but she flapped her arms at him.

"Don't put your wand away, boy!" she hissed at him. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to _kill_ Mundungus Fletcher!"

"What?" Harry said, startled.

"That old berk," she moaned, wringing her hands, "_left_ you! Said something about buying a batch of cauldrons that fell off a broom. Told him I'd flay him alive if he left his post, and now look what's happened! Dementors — here! Lucky I put Mr. Tibbles on the case! But never mind that now — we've got to you two back home! Oh, there's going to be trouble for this, mark my word!"

"Wait a minute," Harry said. Things were happening too fast. The fact that his batty old cat-crazy neighbor knew about dementors was as amazing to him as meeting two of them in an alleyway. "You — you're a witch?!"

"No, you silly boy!" she snapped at him. "I'm a Squib — which Mundungus knew full well! He _knew_ I couldn't help you if he left, but he skived off anyway, leaving you completely without cover when I warned him —"

"So this Mundungus bloke," Harry cut over her, "he's been following me? I _heard_ someone Disapparate from my aunt and uncle's flower bed, earlier tonight!"

"Yes, yes, yes," she snapped. "Luckily I stationed Mr. Tibbles nearby, just in case. He came and warned me, after Mundungus left, but by the time I'd gotten to your house, you'd already left. I don't know _what_ Dumbledore's going to say, but I hope he does a right job on that blasted sneak-thief!" She nudged Dudley with a slipper-shod toe. "Come on, you! Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick! We have to move in case they come back!" She reached down and, taking one of Dudley's arms, tried to heave him to his feet.

But Dudley seemed in no condition to move. He was still half-curled into a ball, trembling and ashen-faced.

"I'll do it," Harry said, reaching down to take Dudley's arm. He pulled upward, but Dudley was heavy, even after a year of hard dieting. Harry took a deep breath, to try again, then remembered what Connell had told him earlier. _I am strong enough to pick up Dudley_, he told himself, then lifted once again. This time he brought Dudley to his feet effortlessly.

"You're stronger than you look, boy," Mrs. Figg told him. "Now hurry up! We have to get you both back to your home!"

She led them along Wisteria Walk, all the while gibbering at Harry to keep his wand at the ready and not worry about the Statute of Secrecy now, with all the trouble there was bound to be. Truthfully, Harry couldn't even think about such rubbish; there were larger questions to be answered. Whatever the stranger, Connell, had done to him, it had made him more powerful, both physically and in his command of magic. One dementor had seemingly vaporized in the light of his first Patronus Charm, the second had run away the moment his Patronus appeared; the silver stag had been the largest and brightest he'd ever conjured. He was now supporting his cousin, who outweighed him by maybe a hundred pounds, with one hand and almost no effort. Connell himself had flown away _after_ putting the mark on him; surely, that meant he could fly now, with it?

A few minutes later they were in front of number four. Mrs. Figg had been alternately bemoaning their situation and cursing the name of Mundungus Fletcher, and now she ended with, "…Well, it's no good crying over spilt pumpkin juice, I suppose…all right, Harry, get inside and stay there. I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough." She raised her voice. "If that dratted Mundungus has been listening to me, and gone to tell Dumbledore!"

"What are _you_ going to do?" Harry asked her, as she turned to leave.

"I'm going home," Mrs. Figg said firmly, looking around the darkness apprehensively. "I'll wait there for more instructions. Good night."

"Wait a minute!" Harry said. "I want to ask you something! Wait!" But Mrs. Figg had already trotted away, spry for a woman of her age, and hadn't looked back. Sighing, Harry turned back to number four, and made his way, supporting Dudley, to the door, then rang the bell.

Mrs. Dursley answered the door, looking reproachfully at her son. "Diddy! It's about time, it's late! Diddy, what — what's wrong?"

Harry sensed what Dudley was about to do and spun around, holding his collar so he was at arm's length as Dudley leaned forward and vomited all over the doorstep.

"_Diddy_!" Petunia shrieked. "Oh Diddy, what's the matter? Vernon! VERNON!" Harry's uncle was there in moments, shouldering Harry out of the way (almost dropping Dudley into the sick in the process) as he and Petunia walked him slowly back into the house and toward the kitchen. Harry had slipped inside, and watched Dudley's parents negotiating him toward the kitchen.

"What happened, son? Did Mrs. Polkiss give you some foreign tea?"

"Where you mugged, Diddy? Oh my lord, Vernon! That must be it!"

"He's covered in mud, he must've fought them off! Tell us who did this, son. We'll get them, don't worry!"

Dudley had stopped in front of the cupboard door, and Vernon and Petunia watched him anxiously. Harry, for his own part, was slowly moving up the steps toward his room. One of Dudley's arms shot out, suddenly, pointing toward the staircase.

"_Him_."

Harry froze. Trust Dudley, he thought in frustration, to blame him after Harry had as much as saved his life.

"BOY!! GET DOWN HERE, NOW!!"

Repressing his anger, Harry turned and walked back down the steps. This wasn't going to be pleasant for anyone. He followed them into the kitchen, where they put Dudley in a chair, then turned on him.

"What did you do to my son?" Vernon said, his voice a dangerous growl.

"Nothing," Harry replied, tightly, "except bring him home."

"What did he do to you, son?" Vernon asked, without turning around. His beady eyes narrowed even more, and he pointed a finger at Harry. "Did he use his — his _thing_?"

Dudley nodded, slowly, and Petunia wailed in horror while Vernon balled his fists menacingly at Harry.

"I didn't!" Harry said at once, watching Vernon's fists. "It wasn't me, it was —"

But before he could finish, an owl suddenly swooped in the open kitchen window, dropping a large parchment envelope in its beak at Harry's feet as it executed a graceful arc and flew back out the window.

"What the bloody —?" Vernon shouted. "_I will not have owls in my house_!"

While Vernon ranted and slammed the window closed, Harry ripped open the envelope and read. It was from the Ministry of Magic, the Improper Use of Magic Office, and was a notification that he was expelled and that Ministry representatives would be coming to his residence shortly to destroy his wand. He read the letter again, turning away at one point because Vernon was shouting something near his ear. It was distracting, and he needed to collect his thoughts and decide what he was going —

WHAM.

Harry dropped to the floor, thinking vaguely this was the third time that night he'd been hit in the head, and it was getting rather tiresome. There was a ringing in his ears, gradually being replaced by his uncle's enraged voice.

"— had bloody well better _listen_ to me when I'm speaking to you, boy! Now get up off that ruddy floor and put my son right again, or I'll box your ears again, d'you hear me?!" Vernon leaned forward, to grab Harry from the floor, but pulled back suddenly as Harry pointed his wand at him.

"Don't ever do that again," Harry said, carefully holding the side of his head where'd Vernon had hit him. It _hurt_. Harry grimaced, wishing for the pain to go away, and suddenly it was gone. He stood slowly, still pointing his wand at Vernon, who was watching him, and the wand, warily.

"You need to put him right," Vernon said, pointing at Dudley. "And stop waving that bloody stick around — we know you're not allowed to use it."

"If I can't use my wand, there's not much use in telling me to help Dudley, is there?" Harry pointed out.

"That's different!" Petunia said angrily. "You hurt Diddy, now you have to help him!"

"Didn't," Harry insisted. "It was dementors."

"What this codswallop?" Vernon blustered. "What the bloody hell are these — these 'dementoids?'"

"They guard the wizards' prison, Azkaban," Petunia said without thinking, then froze as a horrified expression came over her face, as if she'd been caught saying a disgusting swear word. And in a way, she had — Vernon was staring at her, gobsmacked. She looked at him imploringly, trying to find words to apologize.

There was a crack at the window. Petunia screamed and Vernon ducked, with a yell. But Harry was already moving toward the window; he'd seen what had caused the noise: a barn owl was sitting outside, on the sill, shaking its head dazedly. Harry wrenched the window open and pulled a parchment note off its leg. He'd no sooner done so than the owl ruffled its feather and disappeared again into the night.

Harry read the hastily-written, blotchy note. It was from Arthur Weasley, telling Harry that Dumbledore was trying to sort things out at the Ministry and that Harry should not leave the house or surrender his wand under any circumstances.

"What's going on?" Petunia asked. "Why are they sending you all these letters?"

Harry looked at his aunt. She obviously knew something about magic — she'd remembered about dementors, after all. "The first letter I got was from the Ministry of Magic," he said. "They expelled me from school."

"For what?" Vernon growled.

"For doing magic," Harry admitted, after a moment.

"AHA!" Vernon pounced on that detail. "So you _did_ do something to Dudley!"

"Yeah," Harry snapped. "I saved him from the dementors."

"What was it doing to _him_," Petunia gasped, her eyes wide. "He's not a — not a…" she couldn't bring herself to say the word.

"Not a wizard?" Harry finished for her. "Dementors can suck out your soul whether you're a wizard or a Muggle."

"Suck out your soul?" Vernon repeated, as Petunia gasped again.

"They — they _didn't_…" she looked desperately at Harry.

"No," he shook his head. "I stopped them. With this." He held up his wand. "_That's_ when I did magic, and that's why the Ministry's expelling me."

"Well what do you expect, boy, when you break the rules?" Vernon said, nastily.

"Right, even though the alternative was for Dudley and me to get our souls sucked out," Harry said, flatly.

"Why did these — these demembers come after you anyway?" Vernon wanted to know. "To take you to that weirdos' prison, for doing — things?"

"I hadn't _done_ anything when they came!" Harry snapped. He realized just what the reason must be. "It must've been Voldemort who sent them…"

Vernon's piglike eyes narrowed. "Hold on. I've heard that name before. Wasn't he the one who…"

"Who murdered my parents, yeah," Harry finished, dully.

"Wait a minute," Vernon said, remembering an older conversation. "He's gone. That giant bloke told us so. He's gone."

"He's back," Harry said, his voice heavy.

"Back?" Petunia whispered.

At that moment there was a double distraction as two owls suddenly flew into the house—one through the open kitchen window, the other down the kitchen fireplace. Both of them dropped letters at Harry's feet and soared out again, as Vernon exploded.

"No — more — effing — owls!" he shouted, going over and slamming the kitchen window shut as Harry opened the first letter. It was from the Ministry again, from the same witch as before, notifying him that a decision regarding both his expulsion and the destruction of his wand would be decided at a hearing on the 12th of August, at the Ministry of Magic.

Well, that was better than being expelled on the spot, Harry decided, though his fears weren't completely allayed. The second letter was not in an official envelope; he hoped it would be from Dumbledore, explaining what had been going on — with the dementors, with Mrs. Figg and that Mundungus bloke, and why the Ministry seemed to be out for his blood, when Minister Fudge had been practically bending over backwards to avoid an inquiry over his underage magic use, not that long ago.

But the letter was only a short message from his godfather, Sirius: "Arthur's just told us what happened. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do." There was nothing else on the parchment. Harry snorted angrily.

"Boy, I'm warning you," Vernon was saying when he looked up again. "I want to know the _truth_! If you saved Dudley from these dementoids, then why are you expelled? You've done something wrong, admit it!"

"I've already said," Harry said flatly, crushing the letters he held in his hand. "They expelled me because I did the Patronus Charm to stop the dementors. It's the only thing that works on them!"

"And what were they here for, in Little Whinging?" Vernon demanded. "If not for you?" Harry had no answer for that, except what he'd said before — that Voldemort had sent them to attack him.

"But — but —" Aunt Petunia said, after he'd repeated that. "He c-can't be back. He was killed."

"Apparently not," Harry shrugged. "I saw him restored to life."

Vernon's beady eyes were moving back and forth between his wife and Harry. "So it's _you_ he's after, then. Well, that settles it! _You can leave this house right now, boy_!"

"What?" Harry said, though he wasn't truly surprised.

"You heard me. Out you go! I won't have you here, endangering my wife and son! You can just go the same way as your useless parents! OUT!"

Harry didn't move. "I'm supposed to stay here," he said, calmly.

"I don't give a bloody fig what you're supposed to do," Vernon snarled at him. "I'm telling you, you'll be out the door this minute, or I'll throw you out myself!"

Petunia gasped. "Vernon, we can't just —"

"_Quiet_, Petunia!" Vernon bellowed, and both she and Dudley jumped at the ferocity in his voice. "I've had quite enough of this — this _freak_ business — to last me the rest of my life! Marge was right — why we ever kept you in the first place I'll never know, it should have been to the orphanage straightaway! So go on, then, boy — get out, and never darken our door again!"

"I can't leave," Harry said, resolutely, "until I hear from my friends. And you can't make me."

"Oh no?" Vernon growled, his fist raised threateningly.

Harry glanced at the fist, but he'd already imagined himself as being impervious to any force his uncle could muster against him. Seeing the defiance in Harry's eyes, Vernon's patience snapped again, and he swung his fist into Harry's jaw.

The first time he'd struck, Harry had been distracted and looking away, not even paying attention. His uncle's fist had knocked him off his feet. This time, however, the only _crack_ they heard came from Vernon's hand as several bones broke. Vernon yelled, pulling his hand back, then staring at it in shock and pain.

"Vernon! What happened?" Petunia cried.

"Bones — broken," Vernon said, through clenched teeth. "Not — not changing my mind, though, Potter," he said, as Petunia ran cold water into a towel and wrapped it around his fractured hand. "We'll have the police here and then we'll see what you say, you'll be — OWLS!"

A fifth owl had soared in through the chimney, a fifth envelope in its beak, and Harry held out his hand to catch it as it fell. However, the owl passed by him, flying toward Petunia, who shrieked and tried to duck away. The owl dropped the envelope, which was red, onto her head then flew back up the chimney.

The letter had fallen to the floor, and both Vernon and Petunia goggled at the name on it. "It's _my_ name!" Petunia said, horrified. "It's addressed to _me_!"

Harry had recognized the letter as well. "You'll probably want to open that pretty quick," he advised. "That's a Howler, so I'm going to hear what it says anyway."

Petunia looked at Vernon, who shook his head violently. "Leave it be, Petunia! It could be dangerous!"

The red envelope began to smoke. Petunia looked at it, growing more and more terrified. She looked around, about to bolt from the room, but the envelop suddenly burst into flame.

An eerie, awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing strangely even in the small room,

"_REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA."_

Petunia had pressed herself against a wall, looking utterly terrified. Harry and Vernon both stared at her curiously — even Dudley, only half-recovered from his encounter with the dementor, gaped at her.

She raised her head, looking at her husband, then at Harry. She gulped, then stood upright, and said, "The boy will have to stay, Vernon."

"What?" Vernon said, utterly nonplussed.

"We'll have to keep him here," she went on, slowly regaining her composure, her manner becoming brisk and snappish again. "The neighbors will talk. They'll ask awkward questions we don't want to answer. He stays."

"But, Petunia —"

She ignored her husband, turning to Harry. "Go to your room," she said. "Don't leave the house."

"Who was that Howler from?" Harry asked.

"I'm taking Vernon and Dudley to the emergency room to be looked after," she said, ignoring his question. "Go on to bed."

"Do you know any wizards?"  
"What did I just tell you? Go to bed!"

"But how come —"

"YOU HEARD YOUR AUNT!" Vernon bellowed. "NOW GO TO BED!" Harry shrugged and followed his aunt upstairs to his room, where she put him inside then locked the door behind him and went downstairs. A minute or so later, he heard the car start, then watched from his window as it pulled into the street and drove away, leaving him alone.

That suited Harry just fine; he _needed_ some time alone, to think. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he stared at the mark in the palm of his hand. So far, what Connell had told him about it was true — anything he was able to think of doing, he could do. He'd been able to manifest the most powerful Patronus he'd ever made. It had also called down the Ministry upon him, but that would have happened anyway.

So what was he to do now? The Dursleys would be gone for some time. It would be a perfect opportunity for someone to come here and collect him! Hedwig's cage was empty on his desk, she was out hunting; Harry flung himself into his chair, pulled out three pieces of parchment, and wrote the same message three times: _I've just been attacked by dementors. I've gotten letters from the Ministry saying I might get expelled from Hogwarts. Please write back and let me know when I'm going to get out of here. Even better, come and get me, immediately!_

He would send one of these to Ron, one to Hermione, and the third to Sirius. He expected three replies; hopefully, between them, they should be able to fill him in on what was going on! He stood, pacing back and forth in his room, waiting for Hedwig's return. It was late — he'd been up since five a.m., when he'd paid the owl for the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_ — but Harry was no longer tired. In fact, he felt more energetic than he had in a long time. He looked at the mark in his hand again. Could it have something to do with how he felt?

What if —? Harry had never Apparated before, but the idea, as explained by Fred and George, who'd both turned 17 a few months before, was that you focused upon your destination with the proper determination, then made a deliberate choice to occupy that destination.

There were things Apparition couldn't do, mind you, Harry knew. You Apparated to a destination, not to a person, so you had to know where someone was before you could Apparate to them; the ability to Apparate didn't confer any ability to track anyone. In fact, from what Fred and George had told him, you _couldn't_ track anyone when they Apparated, unless you held onto them as they Disapparated. Therefore, trying to Apparate to where Ron and Hermione were, wasn't going to work. On the other hand…

Harry looked again at the mark in his right hand, the black star-shaped symbol the man who'd called himself Kenneth Connell had said was a Star Brand. If he could imagine being able to travel instantly to where, say Ron, was, he would be able to. So _that_ was what he was going to do, Harry decided.

Before he did that, however, a bit of preparation. His trunk was in the room, at the foot of his bed. Harry spent a few minutes tossing the few items he'd taken out of it over the past month back in. As he was doing that, Hedwig returned from hunting, a dead frog in her beak.

"About time," he muttered as she settled onto the desk, looking up at him. "Hurry up with your dinner, we're leaving." Hedwig returned to her cage, swallowing the frog, then watched as Harry looked around, checking that he'd gotten everything he wanted. "Right," he said. "Time to go."

He didn't know where Ron would be right now, but wherever he was, he imagined appearing right next to him. Placing his hands on Hedwig's cage and his trunk, he thought, _I am there_.

There was a tug, and a flash of light. It was a bit like the Portkey he'd experienced last year, traveling to the Quidditch World Cup site, but without the whirling color whooshing around. Harry blinked, and the next thing he knew, he was standing in front of his friend Ron Weasley, who jumped back about three feet, shouting "_Bloody hell_!" and sprawled backward over a bed behind him.

Harry looked around. He was in a bedroom, evidently Ron's, though it was nothing like his room at the Burrow. In fact, Harry had never seen a room like it before: dark velvet covered the walls of the room, with dark wood molding, elaborately carved, along the floors and ceilings. There were old paintings of witches and wizards, and gas lamps lining the walls. A black wardrobe stood in the corner, with an old bed and bedside cabinet across from it. Ron, lying on his back on the bed, hitched himself up on his elbows and stared at Harry in astonishment.

"Blimey, Harry!" he said, jumping up again. "When did you get here? And when did you learn to Apparate?!"

"Just now," Harry said coolly. "And I haven't learned to —"

"_Harry_!" There was a squeal as he spun around, and his vision was suddenly full of bushy brown hair as Hermione leapt onto him with a tight embrace. "I can't believe you got here so quickly!" she was saying in his ear, speaking so fast he could barely make out the words. "I know you must be furious with us — I'd be furious too, if my friends were writing me letters and not telling me what was going on, but Dumbledore made us promise not to say anything to you! We've got a lot to tell you, and — oh, those dementors! We've _got_ to hear what you did to them!

"Give him time to breath, Hermione," Ron said, with a grin.

Now that he'd seen both of them, Harry realized he was rather annoyed with both Ron and Hermione for not finding some way of telling him what had been going on the past month. "Where are we?" he asked, to deflect the conversation away from himself.

"You don't _know_?" Hermione looked startled. "Didn't someone in the Order give you a note, from Professor Dumbledore?"

"No."

"Maybe Dumbledore told you himself," Ron suggested.

"I haven't seen Dumbledore since I left Hogwarts, a month ago," Harry said, frowning at them. "I haven't seen much of anything, lately. Except, oh, for the odd dementor attack," he added, with heavy irony. "That was a bit of a treat."

"Oh, Harry! You should have seen how angry Professor Dumbledore got when he heard Mundungus Fletcher had left you unguarded!" Hermione said, breathlessly. "It was scary!"

"I can imagine," Harry snorted. "Though I only had to deal with two manky old dementors, not the great and powerful Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione gave him a reproachful look. "Harry, Professor Dumbledore is only trying to do what he thinks is best for you, to keep you safe."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry said, struggling to keep himself calm. "Well, it would've been nice if he'd let me in on what he was doing, don't you think? For that matter," he said, pointing an accusing finger at her, "it would have been better if _you_ or Ron had found a way to let me know what was going on, instead of leaving me stuck on Privet Drive rooting around in dustbins for papers to try and find out what was up, out here in the rest of the world!"

"Harry, we wanted to!" Hermione cried, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. Behind her, Ron nodded vigorously. "Dumbledore said we couldn't!"

"Well — so — bloody — _what_?" Harry snapped at her, his patience finally gone. "Since when does a teacher telling us we _can't_ do something mean we can't try anyway?! If I only did what teachers told me to do, I'd probably be _dead_ by now!"

The door to the room suddenly flung open. The three of them spun around as several people piled into the room, wands drawn. At the front of the them, Harry saw, was Mad-Eye Moody, his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher from the previous school year. Except, he remembered, the man who had taught them all those months hadn't been Moody at all, but a Death Eater named Barty Crouch, Jr., who'd taken his place using Polyjuice Potion for the entire school year, as part of a plot to restore Lord Voldemort, then murder Harry. Behind him was Remus Lupin, their teacher of the same class from the year before Moody. Next to Lupin, there was a young woman, with violet hair and an open, heart-shaped face that Harry didn't recognize. Behind them, Harry saw with a start, was the black-haired, sallow-complexioned features of the school's Potions teacher, Severus Snape, his black eyes boring into Harry's with a hatred Harry returned in equal measure.

"None of you move!" Moody snapped, his wand pointed at Harry's chest. "You," he said, pointing toward Harry. "Tell us who you are!"

"I'm Harry Potter," he said at once. "Who else would I be?"

"Don't know," Moody replied, levelly, "but you can't be him."

"It _is_ him!" Hermione cried.

"That's Harry!" Ron shouted.

"Why can't I be?" Harry asked.

"Hermione, you of all people should realize this can't be Harry," Remus said, urgently. "We won't even be ready to go _get_ Harry from Little Whinging for several days yet."

Snape pushed past Lupin, pulling out his wand. "We should not take any chances," he said, imperiously. "Dumbledore will want him for questioning. I will bind him —"

"No, you won't," Harry said, holding out his hand. Snape's wand shot from his hand, flying into Harry's.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Moody shouted immediately, but no bolt shot from his wand. He looked at it, in shock.

Remus stepped forward, as did the violet-haired woman, but Harry said, "Stop!" and both of them halted, uncertain how to proceed. Behind Harry, both Hermione and Ron had drawn their own wands.

"_Stop_!" At the deep-voiced command, everyone turned to the doorway, where Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stood. He moved into the room, and the others parted to let him move closer to Harry. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, you may lower your wands, please," Dumbledore said, and both Ron and Hermione dropped their arms, still looking on tensely. Dumbledore turned to Harry, who noticed that the headmaster was looking, not at him, but at some point over his head. Why wouldn't Dumbledore look him in the eye?

"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, still looking off to one side of him, "do you recall what I mentioned to you about enchanted sleep, in my office, some time ago?"

"Yeah," Harry said, sighing. "You said you'd put me into an enchanted sleep if it would help me to postpone the moment I'd have to relive Cedric's death, but that it wouldn't."

"And was anyone with us when I told you that?"

"Sirius was there."

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. This is the real Harry," he announced, and the adults relaxed. "Quite fascinating, Harry," Dumbledore went on, his face now alight with interest. "This is the first time I have ever known the Fidelius Charm to fail."

"What's the Fidelius Charm got to do with it?" Harry asked.

"The Fidelius Charm," Dumbledore replied, "was used to make the location of this house, number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the secret headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. I am its Secret-Keeper, and since I had not told you its location before you entered it, somehow, this constitutes something of a mystery."

"There's been quite a lot mystery going on for a while, now," Harry said, coldly. "For example, I have no idea what the 'Order of the Phoenix' is, even. I've just been sitting like a lump on Privet Drive, waiting for someone to come collect me for the past month."

"That was unavoidable, Harry," Dumbledore remarked. He turned away, gesturing toward the door. "But come, I'd like us all to go downstairs to our meeting room now, so we can fill you in on what's been happening."

Harry nodded, then he, Hermione and Ron fell into step behind Dumbledore as he led the group down to the kitchen where, Harry guessed, this Order of the Phoenix they were talking about held their meetings. The room was large, with rough stone walls and a long wooden table. A dozen chairs were scattered around it. The room was eerily lit, the only light in it coming from a large fire burning in the fireplace at the far end of the room. Dumbledore gestured toward the table and Harry sat down, as did Ron, Hermione, and the others who had followed them downstairs.

"Before we begin," Dumbledore said lightly, after everyone was seated, "I believe a few introductions are in order." He gestured to the young woman Harry hadn't recognized. "This is Miss Nymphadora Tonks, Harry; she recently joined the ranks of the Order, having been recruited by Alastor."

"Wotcher, Harry," the young woman said, giving Harry a wave. "Call me Tonks. Harry nodded toward her.

"I believe you know everyone else present," Dumbledore said. Harry looked around at the others seated around the table: as well as Tonks, Ron and Hermione, there was Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, and Professor Snape. Harry turned to Dumbledore.

"Is this it?" he asked, "Is this everyone in your Order?"

"Oh, my, no," Dumbledore said, smiling. "There are quite a few others who aren't here at the moment. Also, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are not part of the Order, as both of them are not of age yet."

"We're not let in on the Order meetings, Harry," Ron put in, trying to explain. "We don't know everything that's going on with them."

"Only what you've managed to eavesdrop on, you mean," Snape sniffed. "With those toys your brothers concocted."

"Quite ingenious toys, really," Lupin said. "Very impressive."

"None of this is telling me what the Order is," Harry said, plaintively.

"The Order," Dumbledore said, formally, "is an organization formed to combat Lord Voldemort —" as usual, he ignored the winces of everyone at the mention of the name "— and his Death Eaters. It was first formed in the 1970's, during his first rise to power.

"After he disappeared in 1981, the Order disbanded," Dumbledore went on, as Harry listened with increasing interest. "But we've kept in contact during that time, mindful that Voldemort could return. And now that he has," the headmaster finished heavily, "I have seen fit to recall our members once again, as well as recruit new members."

The kitchen door opened at that moment, and Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, entered. "I thought I heard voices down here," he said. "Did you call a meeting and forget to — Harry!" he exclaimed, seeing his godson sitting at the table. "When did you get here? I thought we weren't going to pick you up until a few days from now."

"'Lo, Sirius," Harry said. He wasn't very happy with his godfather at the moment either, Sirius having been one of the people who could have written him about what had been going on in the past month, but chose not to. "Are you a member of the Order, too?"

"Of course," Sirius said, taking a seat across from Harry and, Harry noted, as far from Snape as he was able. "Haven't they mentioned yet? This is my parents' home. It's mine, now that they're dead, and I'm the last of the Blacks. I lent it to Dumbledore to use as Order headquarters, about the only useful thing I've been able to do." There was a bit of bitterness in his voice, Harry realized.

"We appreciate your sacrifice, Black," Snape said sarcastically.

"Thank you, Severus," Sirius said, his tone equally sarcastic. "At least at the end of the day, _you_ get to leave this place."

"You have only yourself to blame for that," Snape shot back. "Breaking out of prison, breaking into the school, kidnapping, attempted murder — the Ministry would have a field day prosecuting you."

"'S more than they did the last time!" Sirius snapped. "If I got a trial I'd have a chance to clear my name!"

"Unlikely, if I were to testify," Snape said, silkily.

"Are you in touch with Voldemort, Snape?" Harry asked him suddenly. Silence fell immediately around the table. Remus looked at Sirius, who was grinning crookedly. Ron and Hermione looked at each other nervously, while Moody's electric blue eye whirled incessantly in its socket; his other eye was fixed on Dumbledore, who had not moved or reacted.

"It's _Professor_ Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected, mildly.

"And it's none of your concern, Potter," Snape added imperiously. "Order business is something you will not be privy to, until you become a member. _If_ you ever do."

"Do you know where he is?" Harry pressed. He had suddenly realized something about the existence of the Order of the Phoenix, and right now, he was angry enough and frustrated enough with this situation to do it, and never mind the consequences.

"I _said_, Potter," Snape growled, leaning forward and looking into Harry's eyes, "it's _none of your concern_. Now —"

"Thank you," Harry said, standing. Everyone else came to their feet with him.

"Everyone calm down," Remus said, holding out his arms in a warning gesture. "Harry, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to go take care of the problem," Harry said.

"What does that mean, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. Harry noticed he still wasn't looking Harry in the eye.

"It's what you want, isn't it?" Harry asked, sardonically. "Why else put together a whole group of people, dedicated to stopping Voldemort, unless its ultimate goal is his _death_?" He looked around. Hermione's eyes had gone wide, and scared, while Ron was staring at him in utter amazement. Lupin was shaking his head, while Snape scowled at him, probably trying to figure out how Harry had gotten the information from his Occluded mind. Only Sirius was smiling at him, and Harry already knew how reckless his godfather could be.

"I'll be back," Harry said, and vanished in a burst of white light.

***

Harry appeared a moment later in a narrow lane in Wiltshire, miles west of London, near a high, neatly-trimmed hedge. On the other side of the hedge, Harry knew, was the home of the Malfoy family. Somewhere inside their home was Voldemort.

Harry supposed that he could simply walk in and take care of things, but he didn't want to act without at least having a basic plan of attack. The first thing he would need was to know where in the Malfoy house Voldemort was located, and he smiled as he thought of a way to do that.

Harry held out his hand, the one with the Star Brand on it, and concentrated for a moment. A large piece of blank parchment appeared, which Harry opened, saying softly, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Instantly, lines and symbols began to appear on the parchment, along with the words at the top,

**Mr. Harry Potter**  
_Purveyor of magical mayhem_  
presents the  
**_Malfoy Manor Map_**

Harry's eyes roamed across the parchment, identifying various sections of the house. It was quite large, as were the grounds surrounding it. As Harry had planned, there were notations indicating areas where magical protections might sound an alarm were he to move through them without the proper counter-curses in place. The interior areas appeared to be clear of most enchantments save an anti-Apparition jinx that pertained to everyone not a member of the Malfoy family. Not that such as precaution would matter. He could see Draco on the map, presumably in his room; Lucius Malfoy was in another section of the house that appeared to be his study. He located Draco's mother, Narcissa, in what looked like the master bedroom, lying on the bed. She appeared to be sleeping. Finally, in a large, open area, he found Lord Voldemort, identified on the map as Tom Riddle, Jr. It would be as simple, Harry thought, as appearing in the room next to Riddle, dispatching him, and leaving.

A place caught Harry's eye: a room beneath the room Voldemort was in, with a corridor and staircase leading down to it. He could appear there, then walk up the stairs and down the corridor to the room where Voldemort was. It would give him a little time to think about his mother and father, dead because of Voldemort. The parchment disappeared from Harry's hand; a moment later, he was gone in a flash of light.

Reappearing in the small room, Harry looked around. The place was totally dark but he imagined it filled with light, and immediately it was. The room was a rough cellar, with stone walls and floor. Nearby he saw the heavy wooden door that would lead him up to the room above him, where Voldemort was.

There was a prickling sensation in his forehead, the first time he had felt anything from it since receiving the mark on his right palm. Voldemort was aware he was here, Harry realized. _Good_, he thought. _I want him to see me coming_.

He heard footsteps approaching. They seemed to be coming downward; Harry could almost trace the motion of the man coming toward him, his long blond hair and robes flowing behind him. The wooden door swung open.

"_You_!" Lucius Malfoy exclaimed, staring at Harry behind his drawn wand. "How could you possibly have gotten in here, except — _that cursed house-elf_!" Malfoy snarled. "I'll have his head on a stick for this!"

"I'm here on my own, Malfoy," Harry said. "Dobby had nothing to do with me coming here. Now, step aside, and let me do what I came here to do, or suffer the consequences."

"How _dare_ you!" Malfoy spat. "Impudent little brat! _Cruci—_!" But before he could complete the curse, the heavy wooden door swung into Malfoy, smashing him into the doorframe. It swung open, then smashed into him again, and again, until Malfoy dropped to the floor, unconscious and bloody. Harry gestured, and Malfoy's wand soared into his hand. Harry then walked past him, without a backward glance, and up a steep stairway, then down a shadowy corridor leading to the room where Voldemort was.

With Malfoy's wand in his right hand, Harry walked through the door, into a large drawing room, lit with a fire burning beneath a marble mantelpiece. The other furniture in the room had been pushed toward the walls, leaving most of the floor open. In front of the fire and silhouetted by it, Harry could see Voldemort standing there, his red eyes visible and his wand drawn. There was a cruel smile on his face. Harry heard a hiss nearby — a large snake lay on the floor behind Voldemort, near the fireplace.

"What a welcome turn of events," Voldemort said, in a high, clear voice. "I had expected to waste much time trying to find you, Potter, wherever that fool Dumbledore had hidden you. Instead, you've come to me. Now!"

"_Expelliarmus_!" a voice behind Harry cried, and Malfoy's wand flew from his hand, suddenly stopping in the air a dozen feet away. A moment later, a pale young man appeared as the Disillusionment Charm cast upon him was dispelled. It was Draco, Harry saw.

"So, Potter, you _do_ have some guts, after all," Draco sneered, walking toward him, his own wand now pointed toward Harry, as was Voldemort's. "Not much brains, but guts."

"Why do you think he's come here, Draco?" Voldemort asked the young man.

"Truthfully, I don't know, my lord," Draco said, his voice sounding respectful as he addressed the Dark Lord. _Or was it fear rather than respect_, Harry wondered. "It cannot be that he expected to _defeat_ you, somehow."

"Would you care to enlighten me, Harry," Voldemort said, pointing his wand at him once again. But he only gestured toward Draco. "If you would show Harry here how diligently you've been practicing the Cruciatus Curse, Draco."

Draco took a deep breath and pointed his wand toward Harry, shouting "_Crucio_!" as his father had done a few minutes earlier. Instead of Harry falling to the ground screaming, however, Draco's wand flew from his hand into Harry's.

"Run, Draco," Harry said. "Get out of here." Deprived of his wand, Draco looked at Harry in shock, then toward the doorway. After a moment, he lunged toward the door.

"Coward!" Voldemort screamed. "_Avada Kedavra_!" The green bolt hurtled toward Draco, but before it could strike him, the drawing room door moved forward, blocking the magical energy as it shattered into pieces. Draco ran down the hallway and out the front door.

Voldemort pointed his wand toward Harry, but it suddenly exploded in his hand, staggering the tall, thin figure. Recovering, Voldemort hissed, and Harry realized he'd spoken to the snake behind him, saying, "_Kill_."

The snake lurched toward Harry, rearing up and baring its fangs at him. Harry held his ground until the last moment, then suddenly made a slashing gesture toward the snake, which flopped to the floor in two bloody pieces. In Harry's hand a silver sword had appeared, rubies glittering around its pommel: Godric Gryffindor's sword.

Voldemort screamed, a cry of terror and anger mingled, and reached for Harry with hands whose fingers now seemed tipped in razor-sharp claws. But, at a gesture of Harry's left hand, Voldemort grew rigid and stiff, his hands forced down at his sides.

Harry regarded him almost impassively. "Not the way you expected this to end, did you?" he asked, hefting the sword as he walked around the motionless figure. "To be honest, I hadn't even been thinking about this until about 15 minutes ago, when I realized that it was the only reason for me to have been where I've been, all these years. Dumbledore was hiding me from your followers, keeping me from falling into their hands until you returned.

"You picked a pretty spectacular way to do it, too — having Wormtail use my blood, appearing in that cauldron, and calling all your followers back to you, like Lucius Malfoy. No telling what might have happened, if you'd killed me that night, like you planned.

"But you didn't," Harry said, standing in front of Voldemort, who watched him with red-filled, evil eyes. "Things didn't go as planned. And things _really_ went strange a few hours ago, when I achieved your heart's desire, quite by accident." Harry held up his right hand, showing Voldemort the Star Brand in his palm. "This symbol gives me the power to do anything I can imagine. And it's made me immortal — oh, I see _that's_ caught your interest," Harry smirked, as Voldemort's red eyes went wide. "The person who gave me this has been alive for several thousand years, he says, and he looks younger than you do, although he's nearly as white and hairless as you are."

Harry took the sword in both hands and swung it back. "Goodbye, Riddle." He swung it forward, leaning into the blow, and severed the Dark Lord's head from his shoulders. It flopped to the floor beside the decapitated snake, and the headless body fell over. Harry gestured at it and it burst into flames. The sword disappeared from his hand. Harry conjured a sack from the air, picked up Riddle's head, and tossing it inside.

Harry walked out of the manor and some distance away from the house, no longer caring about the wards and protections on the house. Who was there to hear them now, but Lucius, unconscious in the cellar and Narcissa, still asleep? He looked around, and both Malfoys appeared behind him: Lucius on the ground, still unconscious, and his wife, along with their large, four-poster bed, snoring gently. Harry turned back to the house and gestured one more time.

The entire house burst into bright flames, the fire roaring high into the sky. Narcissa Malfoy stirred sleepily, muttering drowsily, "Keep that racket down, Lucius, you know I hate getting up before — AAAAAAGGGH!" She bolted upright, completely awake and staring at her home in horror. "What —" she looked around, seeing Harry. "_You_!"

"I'm getting that a lot, lately," Harry said, shrugging. "You should look after your husband, Mrs. Malfoy, he's had a nasty accident, I'm afraid — he ran into a door. Several times." He disappeared in a flash of light, leaving a bewildered Narcissa Malfoy kneeling over her unconscious husband on the lawn of their estate, watching their home go up in flames.

Harry reappeared a moment later. "Don't worry about Draco, by the way," he told her. "He got out before the house went up. Voldemort wasn't so lucky, though." He held up the sack. "In fact, he's gone and lost his head over the whole thing." Laughing at his own joke, Harry disappeared again.

Harry reappeared in Grimmauld Square, outside his godfather's home. He marched unerringly across the square, straight toward where the entrance should be. The two houses on either side seemed to be right next to each other until the last moment, when he stepped on the front step, and the house suddenly sprung into being in front of him. He rang the doorbell, hearing a loud, clanging sound.

Several seconds passed before an excited Tonks answered the door. "Harry! Where'd you go? Come on in!" Tonks stepped back, gesturing for him to follow her inside; she quickly shutting the door behind them.

"HE'S BACK!" she shouted, making Harry wince slightly. "Sorry," she said, giving him a sheepish look. "But I have to yell, the others are probably trying to shut up Sirius's mum right now."

"Sirius's mum?" Harry looked surprised. "I didn't know she was still alive!"

"Oh, she's not," Tonks said, leading him down the hallway, where Lupin and Ron were trying to quiet the life-sized portrait of a woman who looked nearly as batty as Mrs. Figg, though she was much better dressed. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, as were the portraits all along the wall.

"Why don't they just take it down?" Harry shouted at Tonks.

"Can't!" she yelled back. "It's got a Permanent Sticking Charm holding it there!" Ron and Lupin were trying to force closed a set of curtains that were evidently used to cover up the portrait, but having little luck. Harry snorted, walked up to the portrait, and touched the frame.

In a flash of light the portrait disappeared. With the woman's screaming abated, the other portraits quieted down as well. Lupin and Ron were both staring at Harry with looks of apprehension. He ignored their looks and said, "Come on."

They followed Harry down to the kitchen, picking up Hermione along the way. Once down there, at the table, Harry asked Lupin to all everyone in the house down to the kitchen. Lupin took out his wand and said, loudly, "_Expecto Patronum_!" Three silver wolves burst from the tip of his wand and raced away, through the kitchen door. "Sirius and Severus will be here shortly. I've also sent word to Professor Dumbledore, who left right after you did, Harry."

"Where did he go?" Harry asked.

"He did not say."

Sirius and Snape joined them a minute or two later, appearing one after the other, as if they'd left space between each other while coming downstairs together. "Where did you go, Harry?" Sirius asked, as soon as he saw him, but Harry didn't respond. Snape said nothing but stared unblinkingly at Harry.

"We'll wait to see if Dumbledore's coming," Harry said, but after a few minutes he shrugged and said, "He'll just have to catch up later.

"Well, here's the news." Harry tipped the sack he'd been holding onto the table. Voldemort's head rolled out. Hermione screamed, and Ron jumped back about two feet. "That's what's left of him."

"Harry, oh my God, _you did it_!" Hermione cried through her hands covering her mouth. "You actually _did it_!"

Ron looked at him, both amazed and sheepish. "We thought — well, _I _thought you were having us on a bit — you know, playing a prank on us, like Fred or George, just pretending to be angry with us, earlier."

"I wasn't pretending," Harry said flatly. He watched as both Lupin and Snape examined the head carefully, to determine whether it was Voldemort's or not. After a moment, however, he turned away, no longer interested. It didn't matter whether they believed it or not — it was over. The war with Voldemort was finished.

"It is the Dark Lord," Snape said, a few minutes later. He looked at Remus. "Do you concur, Lupin?"

Remus stepped back, putting his wand away. "I do," he said. "Amazing!"

"'Amazing' is not the word I would use," Snape replied, staring at Harry — he could feel the Potions master's gaze boring into the back of his head. "What is the meaning of this, Potter? How could you have _possibly_ taken the Dark Lord's head?"

"Isn't that what you _wanted_ me to do?" Harry said, levelly.

Snape didn't reply. "He's got a point," Sirius said, a twisted grin on his face. "Doesn't this solve all our problems?"

"Not all of them," Lupin pointed out. "We still have his Death Eaters to contend with." Ron and Hermione both looked at Snape.

"They will not be of much concern," Snape said, ignoring their looks. "Without the Dark Lord present, and with a trophy such as _this_ —" He pointed toward Voldemort's severed head. "— they will become even more fragmented and divisive than they've been for the past fourteen years."

"I wonder what Dumbledore will say?" Ron blurted.

Harry looked at him for a moment, then held out his hands. Voldemort's head leapt into Harry's arms. "I'll let you know," he said, and vanished.

He reappeared in Dumbledore's office, directly in front of the headmaster's desk, and dropped the head on the papers there. The headmaster, sitting there with quill in hand, looked at it, startled, then up at Harry.

"Can this be real?" he asked, as surprised as Harry had ever seen him. "Is this really the head of Lord Voldemort?"

"It is," Harry said. "I took it from him myself."

Dumbledore stood, walking around his desk to stand next to Harry. "Please don't misunderstand this question, Harry, but how could you _possibly_ have defeated Voldemort?"

Harry sighed and folded his arms, giving the headmaster a resigned look. "Snape —"

"— _Professor_ Snape, Harry."

"Whatever," Harry went on. "He asked me that same question."

"And how did you answer him?" Dumbledore continued.

"I didn't, but I'll answer you," Harry told him. He held up his right hand, showing Dumbledore the Star Brand on his palm. "A few hours ago, a man gave me this. He told me it would give me the power to do anything I could imagine. So far, that has been true."

"Who was this man, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, intrigued.

"He said his name was Kenneth Connell. He said he came from Earth, but — I didn't quite understand what he meant — he said didn't get the Brand until 2006, almost 10 years from now. He said he's had the Brand for thousands of years, but I don't see how that could be unless he was capable of time travel."

There was a knock on the door, and Harry looked at Dumbledore, surprised, then walked over to open it. A man with long, blond hair stood there, in a dark suit. "Hello, Harry," he said, in a familiar voice.

"Mr. Connell!" Harry said. "Come in. We were just talking about you!"

"I know," Connell said. He looked at head on Dumbledore's desk. "I see you've been busy. Well done."

"Um." Harry was suddenly ashamed. Whatever Voldemort had been, he was still human, at least in some sense, and Harry had simply executed him. "It was something that needed to be done," he said defensively. "Voldemort was a vicious killer — no one was safe while he was alive."

"Are they safe now that he's dead," Connell asked, "with _you_ still alive?"

"I—" Harry hesitated, but what other answer could there be? "Yes, they're safe — or saf_er_, at least."

"I hope so too." But Connell's expression remained worried. "Do you believe your behavior has been at its best these past few hours? Is your conscience clear on all counts?"

"I — I — think so," Harry said, uncertainly. "I know I've been — upset — a few times, but I think anyone would have been, under the circumstances."

"Really?" Connell said, his eyebrows (for he _did_ have eyebrows, now) raised questioningly.

"I…don't know," Harry shook his head, wearily. "I can't decide. I — I'll do whatever you think best."

Connell nodded slowly, then faced Harry and raised his left hand. "I think you should return the Brand to me, Harry," he said. "Place your right hand against mine, please."

Harry stared at the mark in his hand for several long seconds, then looked at Professor Dumbledore.

"You must do what you think right, Harry," the Hogwarts headmaster told him. "It is either that, or choose what is easy."

Harry nodded, looking down at the floor, feeling shamed by his unworthiness in Connell's eyes. Slowly, he raised his hand, pressing against the blond-haired man's hand.

"You must will the transfer to take place, Harry," Connell told him. "The Star Brand cannot be taken — it can only be given."

Harry took a deep breath. It would be so easy to keep the Brand, he realized, if no one could take it from him. Easy — but not right. Hadn't he killed someone only a few hours after receiving it? Even if that someone was Voldemort, it said more about Harry that he felt comfortable knowing. Now that he was dead, if Harry kept the Star Brand it would be for his own selfish motivations, and he did not want to tempt himself further with such power. He concentrated, and there was a flash of light between their hands.

Connell nodded, but did not take his hand away from Harry's. Another flash of light blazed momentarily between their hands. Harry pulled his hand back, seeing the Star Brand visible in Connell's palm. But strangely, he felt no different than before.

Connell looked at him solemnly. "Look in your palm, Harry." Harry did, and was surprised to see the Star Brand still there. "My final test was to see if you had the strength of will to be given such power, and to return it willingly when asked, to prove your worthiness. You have passed that test."

Harry looked back at Connell wonderingly. "How — how did you know I would return it?" he asked. "What if I had decided to keep it?"

"When I touched you," Connell replied, "when we first met, it was to confirm what I'd already felt about you — that you are a very special person, Harry, one who does not easily fall prey to the allure of power. I felt your need to remove that evil wizard who has plagued your country for so long. And I felt that, when your need was satisfied, you would willingly give up the power you had been given.

"I also sense that this world needs someone like you, Harry, to protect it," Connell went on. "From what, exactly, I cannot say, for I do not know what the future will bring. I have divided the Star Brand power between us, Harry — half to you, half to me. There is more than enough power, even halved, that you will never find it lacking."

Connell turned to Dumbledore. "I also suspect Harry will need it again one day, given what I now understand about your adversary, Voldemort."

"I fear you are correct, sir," Dumbledore said, heavily.

"I will take my leave of you, then," Connell said, nodding to them both. He vanished in a flash of light, then reappeared a moment later. "Oh Harry, I meant to say, a very cool trick, this Apparition. It might even help me find my way home." Connell vanished once again.

Harry turned to Dumbledore. "What did you mean, you feared Connell was correct, when he said I'd need this power again?" He pointed to the head laying on Dumbledore's desk. "He's stone dead now."

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, I believe you and I need to have a talk about — Horcruxes."


	2. The Star Brand

The Potter Brand

Chapter 2

"The Star Brand"

"Well that's just marvelous!" Harry shouted. "Simply marvelous! When were you planning on telling me all of this, Professor?!"

Professor Dumbledore had just spent the past several minutes explaining the function of a Horcrux to him. "I understand your feelings in this, Harry —"

"No, I don't think you do!" Harry cut over him, leaning over the desk to stare into Dumbledore's eyes. The decapitated head of Lord Voldemort was still lying on the blotter between them. "I've spent four years in school learning wizardry and trying to figure out what was supposed to happen with me and Voldemort! He's attacked me, _more than once_, just in my first year, using Professor Quirrell as his puppet!

"Then, in my second year, Malfoy's father sent that damned diary of Tom Riddle's to school with Ginny, stirring up his memories so much he was nearly able to come back to life somehow, at the cost of her life, and meanwhile he called up the Basilisk, which could have killed everyone in this school if he'd wanted it to!" Harry's anger was beginning to build steam as he realized just how long he'd been kept in the dark about the true nature of Lord Voldemort.

"_Then_, last year, Voldemort managed to get a _Death Eater_ inside Hogwarts, and he's here a _whole bloody year_, teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he sends Cedric and me off to be killed by Voldemort, after helping to bring him back to life!" Harry resumed his angry pacing. "Cedric is _dead_ because I wanted him to share equally in the Tri-Wizard championship! And now, I find out there's _more_ stuff you haven't bothered to tell me about Voldemort! Now he's not even really _dead_ yet!" Harry stopped pacing and faced the headmaster again, his faced flushed, his expression furious.

Dumbledore's head was bowed. "It is not quite as simple as that, Harry —"

"Well how bloody simple does it need to be, for you to just tell me _what the hell is going on_?!" Harry shouted.

"Harry, if you would allow me to explain, without interruption," Dumbledore went on, a tinge of irritation in his tone. "I believe I will be able to answer most of your questions, both spoken and unspoken." Harry walked to a nearby chair and flopped down, making an impatient gesture for the Headmaster to continue.

"When I first learned that Lord Voldemort was still alive, some time after the events that took place on Hallowe'en of 1981 at your parents' house," Dumbledore began, as Harry stared unwaveringly at him. "I realized that only the darkest of magic could have sustained him against the ancient protection your mother's death gave you.

"Normally, a Dark wizard creates only one Horcrux in order to bind himself to the living world. Knowing Tom Riddle as I did, however, I believed that he would push the boundaries of that most malefic spell, and I set out to establish just that."

Harry, interested in spite of his anger, asked, "So how many of these Horcruxes did Voldemort create?"

"I do not yet know," Dumbledore responded, surprisingly. "As both three and seven are powerful magical numbers, I suspect he has split his soul into either three or seven parts."

"_Seven_?" Harry yelped. "You think he made up to seven of these Horcruxes?"

"One part of his soul would have remained within his body," the headmaster explained. He looked down at Voldemort's head, lying on his blotter. "It is possible it still resides here, within his head, even though it is detached from his body."

Harry spared it only a momentary glance. "I can't see why, Professor — I'm pretty sure this head is dead, after all."

"I agree, Harry," Dumbledore smiled. "However, any object, whether living or not, can be made into a Horcrux with the application of the proper Dark spell. Thereafter, it can only be destroyed by a few magical substances, or by the creator's own remorse over the murder done to create it; the pain of mending one's soul may intense enough to kill."

"I could utterly destroy Voldemort's head," Harry said, reaching for it, but Dumbledore put up a hand quickly to stop him.

"I wish to keep this for your upcoming hearing," the old wizard told Harry, as the latter withdrew his hand. "Cornelius Fudge will likely insist there is insufficient evidence of Voldemort's return — this will effectively refute his argument.

"In any event, Harry," Dumbledore went on, "I believe you said you used the Sword of Gryffindor to behead Voldemort?" Harry nodded.

"If you'll recall," Dumbledore said, his tone now reminiscent of a teacher giving a well-rehearsed lecture, "When you were attacked by the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, you drove the point of the sword into its mouth, and venom from the Basilisk's fangs penetrated the sword. Basilisk venom is one of the few substances able to destroy Horcruxes. That is why I believe that this head no longer contains a Horcrux."

Harry had decapitated Voldemort with a two-handed swing of the Sword of Gryffindor, the blade cleaving his neck almost effortlessly. He sat down and regarded the headmaster silently for some time. Finally, "Alright, so what now? How do we find out what the rest of these Horcruxes are?"

"I have a final person to interview concerning Tom Riddle," Dumbledore replied, reseating himself at his desk and gesturing at Voldemort's head, which moved off to one side, freeing up his blotter once again. "One of his former teachers here at Hogwarts. Unfortunately," he added, looking soberly at Harry over his half-moon spectacles, "he has gone into hiding since Voldemort's return, and I have not yet been able to locate him."

"How could he find out about Voldemort's return?" Harry wanted to know. "There's been nothing in the _Prophet_ about it for the past month."

"Horace has his sources," Dumbledore said, writing a final few words on a sheet of parchment, then taking out his wand and tapping it and an envelope. The letter folded and inserted itself into the envelope. Reading upside down, Harry was just able to make out the name on it, "Horace Slughorn," before it floated into the air and zoomed out of the headmaster's office. "He's very well-connected in the wizarding world," Dumbledore mentioned. "Unfortunately, however, if he does not want to be found, it will be very difficult to make contact with him. He is quite skilled at remaining hidden, from friend and foe alike."

"Why would he be hiding? Is he that afraid? Does Voldemort have a grudge against him, or something?" That was something Harry could understand, after all; his parents had gone into hiding to keep Voldemort from finding them. Harry jerked a thumb at Voldemort's head. "It seems like he'd be happy to hear about this, if he's so worried about being caught."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, a note of skepticism in his voice. "But if I am correct in my assumption, he will know this is not the end for the Dark Lord. Voldemort has had at least a month now, to plan for such contingencies; if his defeat all those years ago taught him anything, I would think at least he would be more prepared now than then." Dumbledore looked at Harry, his expression calm.

Reminded of Dumbledore's eyes on him, Harry asked, "Why wouldn't you look at me earlier, Professor? You don't seem to have a problem doing it now."

"There was a risk, earlier," Dumbledore said, gesturing toward Harry's forehead. "After Voldemort returned, I believed his link to you grew stronger as well. As you've had no experience with Occlumency —"

"Which is what, exactly?" Harry interrupted, impolitely.

"— Occlumency, which is a technique wizards use to shield themselves from mental intrusions and influence," Dumbledore went on, almost as if Harry had not cut over him. "Without it, I believe Voldemort is able to read your thoughts — you have long shown indications of being able to detect Voldemort's presence, and emotions, when he was near to you, or feeling powerful emotions."

"I suppose so," Harry shrugged. "But that doesn't matter now — he's dead, except for his Horcruxes." Harry looked suddenly thoughtful. "Professor — what would happen if I tried to find these Horcruxes using the Star Brand?"

"I do not know," Dumbledore said, after a moment of contemplation, "I have no experience with such an artifact."

"Well, I do," Harry said confidently — but then stopped. How _would_ he go about locating a Horcrux? He concentrated for several seconds, but his mind was blank — he had no idea how he might locate one with the Brand.

"I guess I can't do it right now," Harry finally said, looking again at Dumbledore. "I probably need to learn more about Horcruxes before I can come up with a way to find them."

"I will be able to provide some books for you," Dumbledore nodded, then took out his wand and waved it. Two books floated off a shelf in the study and down into Harry's hands. He looked at them: both books were of ancient manufacture, bound in heavy leather. The first one was _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, with no author given; the second was titled _The Dark Arts Revealed_, by Ignoblus Vasterd (published posthumously in 1823).

Harry looked up from the books and nodded toward Dumbledore, as if he were about to leave, but then asked, "I expect that Fudge will listen to reason, now that we've produced Voldemort's head, and will cancel the hearing?"

Dumbledore didn't look very optimistic. "I will broach the subject to him, Harry; you are correct, we can produce Mrs. Figg as a witness to the dementors that attacked you, and clause seven of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery states that magic may be used in front of Muggles in circumstances such as situations that threaten the life of the wizard or witch directly, or other wizards, witches or Muggles in his or her presence.

"For now, however, Harry," Dumbledore said, speaking very seriously. "It would be best if you did not mention anything about Horcruxes to anyone. It is a very sensitive subject, and in this case, we do not want Voldemort to have any clue that we are aware of them. I believe he has kept his knowledge of them from everyone, even his own followers."

"If you say so," Harry said, indifferently. "I won't tell anyone."

"As for this," Dumbledore indicated Voldemort's head, "I will turn it over to Cornelius — or rather, I think, to Rufus Scrimgeour, the head Auror, who will undoubtedly treat it with much more impartiality. I will be in touch with you —"

But Harry had already disappeared in a burst of white light, taking the two Dark Arts books with him.

***

Harry reappeared inside the front entrance of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was very late by now, but quiet voices could still be heard from the dining room, just down the main hallway. It was Sirius Black, his godfather, and Remus Lupin, his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher two years ago.

"Are you sure you can't think of any reasonable explanation for what he can do now?" Sirius was saying. "A legend of a powerful artifact, perhaps?"

"The only one I can think of," Lupin replied, "is the Wand of Destiny, but Harry wasn't using a wand."

Harry moved a few steps nearer to the dining room entrance, listening.

"It doesn't make any sense," Sirius muttered. "What could have happened in the past month?"

Harry imagined that his eyes were like Mad-Eye Moody's, able to see through solid objects. He peered upward, looking for his trunk or Hedwig's cage, finally locating them in a room on the second floor, along with Ron, who was asleep in one of the two beds; it was the room he'd appeared in when he first came to the house.

He was tempted to simply Apparate (or whatever he should call his ability to travel almost instantly from place to place — it wasn't really Apparition, as the Wizarding world knew it) to his room and go quietly to sleep. It would serve his godfather and Lupin right, for not keeping him informed about what Dumbledore had been doing the past month.

"There's no way to know without asking him," Lupin was saying. Harry, now looking through the walls at them, saw Sirius shake his head.

"Not a good idea," Sirius said. "He's got no reason to tell us the truth."

"You think he'd _lie_ to us, Sirius?" Lupin said, surprised.

"I would, if I were him," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "He's got no reason to trust us, really. We kept him in the dark since he went home to Surrey — Dumbledore had his friends sending him letters saying they couldn't tell him _anything_, and that he'd find out what was going on 'soon.' I wouldn't have put up with it as long as he did, if I was in his place!"

"It seems like you _are_ in his place," Lupin said, giving his fellow Marauder a shrewd look. "Dumbledore hasn't let you go much of anywhere since you lent him this place for headquarters." He shrugged resignedly. "But, I'm in the same spot you are, mind you, so I can't say much. Dumbledore isn't telling any of us much of anything."

Harry had been on the verge of disappearing, but he hesitated. Perhaps everyone was in the same situation as _he_ was, and _that_ was the reason nobody was telling him anything. Because of Dumbledore. Looking into his room again, he imagined the books he held were now up there, on the desk, and they disappeared from his hands, reappearing where his mind's eye placed them on the desk. Then he stepped forward from the darkened hallway into the entrance of the dining room. "Hello," he said.

Both Lupin and Sirius came to their feet. "Harry!" Sirius said, coming over to him. "Welcome back! Come in and have a seat."

Harry didn't move. "It's late," he said. "I thought I would just go up to bed. But I wanted to let you know, I talked to Dumbledore — he's going to the Ministry tomorrow, to try to get things square with them."

Sirius was grinning at him. "He'll whip them into shape, no doubt. But if Remus and Snape both agree that Voldemort is dead, it seems like old Fudge will have no choice but to agree."

Harry shrugged. Lupin was watching him closely. "You don't seem especially happy about it, Harry."

That was true, Harry realized. When he'd gone to kill Voldemort an hour or so ago, it had seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. It had certainly been satisfying, the feel of the sword in his hand as he drove it through the Dark Lord's neck, watching his head fall free of its body and tumble to the floor, imagining the headless body bursting into flames, as well as Malfoy's mansion, a minute later…

"Are you alright, Harry," a voice came to him, dimly, as if from far away, and Harry realized he'd been lost in some fugue.

"Yeah," he said, looking away. "Just tired, I s'pose. I'll go to —"

A hand touched his arm. "Wait a second, Harry." It was Sirius. "We wanted — we wanted to talk to you for a moment."

"Can it wait?" Harry mumbled. He didn't want to talk. He didn't even want to _think_, at the moment — just to sleep.

"It could, but — Harry, just what's _happened_ to you?" It was Remus now. "You've been doing things beyond belief these past few hours!

"You managed to defeat Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm, somehow — something that's never been done before. You Apparated into this house, right through the protection spells — also unheard of. And taking Voldemort's head —" Remus shook his head in utter amazement. "You have to admit, Harry, you've changed quite a bit from a month ago."

There was a long pause before Harry replied. When he finally looked up at them, there was a weariness in his eyes that made both men take notice.

"I don't understand everything that's happened this evening," he said at last, with a quietness that belied the turmoil in his soul. "I was upset, earlier, because I've been cooped up on Privet Drive with nobody telling me _anything_ — I've had to pull newspapers out of bins to find out what's been going on in the world — my aunt and uncle think I should be arrested for giving a damn — my cousin Dudley's idea of being well-informed is knowing whose ears he's going to box next."

Harry held up his hand, showing them the Star Brand on his palm. "A man named Kenneth Connell gave me this, earlier tonight. That's a whole story in itself, but to sum up, he gave me the power to do anything —"

"_Anything_?" Sirius cut in, quizzically.

"How do you mean?" Remus asked, intently.

"I mean, anything I can imagine, will happen," Harry said. He held out his hand. "For example, if I imagine myself holding the Sword of Gryffindor —" there was a flash of light and the Sword appeared in Harry's hand, its long silver blade gleaming even in the dim light of the dying fireplace. He handed it to Lupin, who took it, gingerly. "It's the real Sword, you can see," Harry said. "Dumbledore told me, when I killed the Basilisk, that the blade absorbed some of its venom. You could check for that."

Lupin looked at Harry for a moment, then nodded and took out his wand. Tapping the blade at several points along its length, he nodded a few moments later. "Yes," he said, "I detect basilisk venom along the tip, for about the first twelve inches of the blade. This is also a goblin-forged blade." Harry nodded, and Sirius took the blade from Lupin, examining it closely.

"The rest can wait 'til tomorrow," Harry said, starting to turn away.

"What will you do, now that Voldemort's dead?" Lupin asked unexpectedly.

_Hunt for his Horcruxes_, Harry wanted to say, but Dumbledore's request for him to remain silent about them was still fresh in his mind. Although, Harry now realized, it did seem strange that Dumbledore had kept this one _very_ important fact about Voldemort a secret from everyone, even the members of his elite inner circle in the Order of the Phoenix.

Whatever he might make of that business, however, he wasn't going to bring it up now. Instead, "I dunno, really. I suppose, if I can show that Voldemort is dead, they might believe me about Peter Pettigrew as well, and Sirius will be cleared of his murder. If Peter doesn't come forward on his own, I suspect I'll be casting the Animagus Revealment Charm on a lot of pet rats soon."

Both Sirius and Remus chuckled, though Sirius's laugh had a bitter edge to it. "If nothing else, Harry, I might become Padfoot, and hang out at Hogwarts for the next few years, while you finish your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s — it'll be nice being around you more often, and I'm sure we can whip up an adventure or two while we're at it!"

Remus sighed. "Haven't we discussed that already, Sirius? Dumbledore will never allow it."

"Dumbledore can't to object to something if he doesn't know about it," Sirius said, giving Harry a wink. Harry smiled.

Lupin sighed gustily. "You're doing it again, Sirius."

Sirius regarded him coolly. "Oh? And what is it I'm doing, exactly?"

"You're thinking about Harry like he's James again."

"Oh, and you feel left out?" Sirius said, with mock pity. "Remus, get a grip, for hell's sake! I'm treating Harry like a godson I lost contact with for a dozen years and more, and I want to get to know him better!

"Now I'm sure things weren't altogether rosy for you, Remus, out there scrounging a living since you left Hogwarts. But at least you were free to do so! I — was — NOT!"

"Oh, you don't know the half of what I went through," Lupin said, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "I spent years living hand-to-mouth, rejected by both wizard kind and other werewolves. When Dumbledore found me, two years ago, I was on my last legs — homeless, nearly penniless — I barely had more than the clothes on my back, until he offered me the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts. That let me get back on my feet again — and I would've helped _you_, as well, if I'd been able to find you!"

"Easy enough to say that, _now_," Sirius scoffed.

"_Enough_!" Harry snarled, suddenly. He stepped away from the two men. "You two are acting like some old, married couple! I've had enough!" In a flash of light, Harry vanished. An instant later he reappeared outside, in Grimmauld Square. It was dark, well after midnight by now, and the air was still warm and somewhat humid.

Harry hardly noticed any of this, however. He'd had to get away from Sirius and Lupin — from everyone in the house, really — before he completely broke down. What he'd done earlier that evening was finally sinking in — he'd killed a man!

Oh, Voldemort wasn't much of a man, that was true, but he was still human, and what Connell had said to him in Dumbledore's office — "Is your conscience clear on all counts?" — was running through Harry's head, over and over again. It was a question he could not answer "Yes" to, truthfully, because he knew what he had done. He had done _murder_.

Harry staggered over to an old, worn-out bench, dropping onto it and covering his face, filled with horror and shame. He had reveled in Voldemort's death earlier, exulted in it, but now he could scarcely believe he had done such a thing. It was not like him to act like that — so ruthless, almost sadistic as he recalled circling Voldemort, showing him the Star Brand and throwing in his teeth the immortality he would never have, now, as the sword cleaved his head from his neck. His insides churned painfully, and Harry groaned, bent forward, and threw up the few remnants of last night's dinner.

He stayed that way he didn't know how long, the pain in his stomach keeping him bent nearly double, breathing the stench of his own vomit in the warm, still night air, not knowing how he could ever feel better about what he'd done.

"It's not easy, is it — killing a man?" a voice above him asked. Without looking up, Harry shook his head slowly. He'd recognized the person speaking.

Kenneth Connell sat down on the bench beside him. "I've wondered at times," he said quietly, looking out over the darkened square, "whether I killed my friend Madeline when I received the Star Brand. I've never found a trace of her."

"Except her shoes," Harry remembered, grunting as he sat upright to look at the man beside him.

"That's right," Connell smiled, looking back at Harry. He had changed a bit since Harry had last seen him a few hours ago — his blond hair was now longer and he was dressed in a polo shirt and slacks, instead of the dark suit he'd been wearing before. "It was difficult imagining what I'd done to her," he said, "and that was only an accident. I don't know how you might feel, having deliberately killed a man."

"Not very well," Harry admitted. "I can't even tell you, now, why I would have wanted to do that."

Connell nodded, his expression sad. "It's a side effect of being given the power of the Star Brand — it can corrupt you. Sometimes, in ways so subtle you cannot even tell you've been corrupted.

"I had thought," Connell continued, musing, "when I first received it, that it was a way for me to make a real difference in my world, to _be_ somebody. I only succeeded in almost destroying everything I cared about."

Harry was staring at the Star Brand in the palm of his hand. He looked up as Connell finished speaking. "What happened? How did you use the Star Brand when you first got it?"

Connell stood up. "I'll tell you," he said, but not here — we should go where we won't be interrupted. Plus —" he grinned, and his body floated upward a foot or so in the air, surprising Harry "— I want to give you a taste of what you can do with the Star Brand. Let's go." Connell began to drift upward.

"I can't fly —" Harry started to say, but cut himself off. Obviously he _could _now, if he imagined it. A moment later, he was floating upward as well, and was soon eye-to-eye with Connell, who nodded, smiling.

"I'll go slow at first," he said to Harry. "But try to keep up, you'll be surprised what you can do, once you put your mind to it." Connell looked toward the sky, then flew upward and away from Harry.

Harry followed, keeping up easily with Connell at first, then putting on more and more speed as the tall, blond man rose higher and higher into the sky. Harry had never flown like this before — completely by himself, with no broom or hippogriff beneath him, and the feeling was exhilarating. Connell's flight leveled out, and Harry copied his flying style — upright and leaning slightly forward, to balance against the wind — as they flew into darkness. Harry drew alongside Connell, looking around — he imagined being able to see clearly even in almost complete darkness, and he was able to see the towns and countryside rushing by, far below — but he had no idea where they were going.

And it did not matter. Harry raised his arms, spreading them wide open, and whooped in delight as the night air rushed past him. Connell, at his side, smiled and nodded. There were no words spoken between them — nothing could be said at the speed they were going, and no words were necessary.

All too soon, Connell began slowing down, and Harry marked a black expanse coming up below them: the ocean. They crossed over the edge of land below them, and out toward the sea, still slowing. Finally, Connell stopped altogether and turned to face the way they'd come, bidding Harry do the same. Harry turned and saw an expanse of cliffs, shining white even in the dim pre-morning nighttime sky, before him.

"I've heard of these," Harry said, awestruck. "The white cliffs of Dover. They're beautiful."

"They are," Connell agreed. "This is the first time I've really looked at them myself." He laughed. "I've been beyond the Andromeda Galaxy, and traveled millions of light-years over thousands of years, but I've never been to the cliffs of Dover until today! How odd is that?" Connell floated toward land, and Harry followed, to an area near the base of the white cliffs, where darker rocks jutted from the water and into the air above them. Connell hovered near a dark boulder for a moment, then moved downward, and Harry saw him move into a fissure in the cliff, into which the dark waters were swirling.

"In here, I think," Connell called up to him. "We will not be seen." Harry trailed after him as the tall blond man moved into the water and through the fissure, adjusting his eyes to the deeper darkness. Inside, the fissure soon widened into a dark tunnel, which turned to the left, reaching far underneath the cliffs. The walls were close, just wide enough to move through.

After a while the tunnel widened into a large cave, one which would have been pitch black were his eyes not compensating for the lack of light. Harry landed next to Connell, his clothing cold and wet, until he imagined them warm and dry once again. Connell had done the same, and was looking about the cave for something to sit upon. After a moment, however, he simply gestured at the ground, and two stone chairs rose up from it. Sitting down on one of them, Connell gestured for Harry to take the other.

"It's been a long time since I thought about those first days I had the Star Brand," Connell recalled, after Harry was seated. "I grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, in the United States, a place called Optima Springs. It was just a typical small town in the Midwest, nothing really remarkable about it."

Connell paused for a moment, concentrating. "Let's see, the night this all started, a friend and I, Maddy Felix, were out at the Road House having a pizza together. She and I knew each other since grade school, and we kinda hung out together. And the Road House made great pizza. In fact —" Connell pointed at the floor in front of them, and a square section rose up into a table-like protrusion. A flat cardboard box appeared on top of it, steam rising around the edges. Ken lifted the top of the box, and Harry saw a large, hot pizza. "This is their Double Supreme," Ken said, taking a piece. "I haven't thought it in a long time. Have a slice, Harry."

Harry reached in and took out a slice of the pizza. It was covered with bits of beef, sausage and slices of pepperoni, with onions and peppers and slices of tomato on it. It smelled delicious. Harry took a bite; he hadn't thought about food for a while now but it was quite savory, and he and Ken both ate two slices in quick succession. Ken held out hand and a glass of ice-cold beer appeared in it; Harry did the same then drank from the butterbeer bottled he'd created from nothing but imagination.

"Maddy sure left me some happy memories, at least," Ken said nostalgically, putting down the glass of beer, now half-gone.

"She was your girlfriend?" Harry asked.

Connell chuckled. "Well, we weren't quite that serious." Her daddy didn't care too much for me, and since he was the town sheriff, I didn't press the issue much. She wasn't in any hurry to get married, anyway. We were kind of… friends with benefits, if you know what I mean." When Harry didn't react, he shrugged slightly. "Maybe you don't know."

"I think I get the idea," Harry said, turning slightly red.

"Anyway," Connell went on, "after the pizza and a few beers, we drove out of town a ways, to a hillside where we could look up at the stars. We could also see the movies playing at the drive-in across from the hill, a mile or so away. Anyway, we were talking about…well, things, and it got pretty late. We were lying on a blanket together, and we just kinda…went to sleep."

Ken's eyes took on a haunted look as Harry continued to listen, intrigued by his story. "Sometime, during that night — I dunno what time it was, but I remember the date, March 1st, 2006 — something strange happened. When I woke up that morning, I was alone on that hill. There wasn't a trace of Maddy anywhere around, except for —"

"— her shoes," Harry finished.

"Right," Ken nodded. "Anyway, I got up, and I noticed — the grass around me was black, like it had been burned — and the blanket I was laying on had been scorched, like with an iron, but I could see an outline where I'd been laying on it. I didn't know what to make of that. Then I saw this —" Ken held up his hand, with the Star Brand on it "— and at the same time I realized, this _same symbol_ was burned into the grass where I'd been laying, but really big, like 15 or 20 yards across.

"Anyway, I thought then maybe Maddy was playing a trick on me. I jumped in my truck and drove back into town, to see if I could find her. I looked for quite a while, but couldn't find hide nor hair of her. Everywhere I went, though, people kept asking if I'd seen the 'White Event' the night before. I didn't know what they were talking about at first, but eventually I saw a news program that said there'd been a white flash in the nighttime sky, almost directly above Oklahoma. Some people were saying that there was a beam of light coming from the heavens, touching the Earth right about where Optima Springs was.

"Well, in the meantime, Madeline's dad found out I was asking around for her, and he was trying to find her himself. When he drove out of town to the drive-in, he saw that big Star Brand symbol burned into the hillside across from it, and went to check it out. He found Maddy's shoes, and came back looking for me."

Ken stood suddenly and began walking around the cave. "Sorry," he murmured, after a few moments. "It's been a long time since I thought about this. I was sitting in the diner eating supper, and the sheriff came in, with three of his deputies. He told me he was taking me down to the sheriff's office, to book me on suspicion of murder."

"Why would he think you killed your girlfriend?" Harry asked, shocked.

"I asked him that exact same question, as a matter of fact," Ken said pointedly. "'I don't want her dead, I love her!'" I told him. Ken was giving Harry a sardonic look. "Well, that was something he did _not_ want to hear, let me tell you! He pulled out his gun and cussed me some, and said I was going in, dead or alive."  
"What'd you do?" Harry asked, leaning forward intently.

"Well, to be honest, as I remember it," Ken said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "I figured he was just trying to scare me — he wasn't going to shoot me in front of everyone in that diner. But what I didn't know just then was that everyone else had run out of the place, and that me, the sheriff, and his boys were the only ones there.

"Suddenly I saw his finger start to tighten on the trigger," Ken said, with a look of great surprise on his face. "I put up my hands instinctively, trying to stop the bullet — we were only about ten feet apart — and he fired.

"Well, I was imagining stopping that bullet, somehow, with my hand —" Ken put up his right hand, with the Star Brand showing on it, "— and it _did_, it bounced right off my hand, but the ricochet went right back at the sheriff, and hit him right _here_." Ken pointed to the middle of his forehead. "I didn't mean for that to happen, you understand," he said to Harry, his expression almost pleading.

Harry nodded his understanding, and Ken went on. "Well, he went down, of course, and his three deputies and I stood there staring at him, because I didn't know yet how the bullet had missed me and hit him — when his boys decided I must be carrying a gun, and they pointed theirs at me and started to shoot.

"Well, _this_ time," Ken said, "I turned and ran as fast as I could, not realizing how the Star Brand would increase my speed — and I moved so fast, that when I got to the door and pushed it open, it exploded from the sudden motion. In fact, a whole section of the front wall was ripped away with the door.

"Not only that," he went on, sitting back on his stone chair, "but a lot of air was sucked out of the diner after me, and I ran for several miles before I realized how fast I was going. I turned and went back, and found that the vacuum my speed created pulled a lot of flying glass and debris back into the diner, and some of it hit the deputies. Two of them were knocked unconscious — the third was cut on the neck by a flying piece of glass, and bled to death." Ken looked down, covering his face with a shaky hand. "I'd killed two men, and I didn't even know what had happened to me!"

"Wow," Harry said, overcome. "That was a hard way to find out you had the Star Brand — by accidentally killing your biggest enemy!"

Ken nodded, gazing thoughtfully at Harry. "I was probably too hard on you, back in your principal's office earlier tonight. From what I gathered when I read your mind, this Voldemort character has been trying to kill you for years."

"He has," Harry said, then shook his head. "But, he didn't have a chance when I went after him tonight. I murdered him."

Ken was silent for some time, simply looking at Harry. When he spoke again, his tone was very earnest. "I'm not minimizing what you did, Harry, but if a man ever needed killing, it was this Voldemort dude. I think you should consider the world well-rid of him, because he was a monster."

Harry nodded, then gave a bitter laugh. "What's really rich is, we're not done yet, because of something Professor Dumbledore told me after you left."

"What's that?"

Harry explained briefly about Horcruxes, as Ken's interest grew. "Amazing!" he said at last. "I've never heard of such a thing before in my life!"

"Neither had I. I have to track down the Horcruxes that are still out there, wherever they are, and destroy them — hopefully before Voldemort manages to regenerate his body. But if not, I'll have to kill him all over again."

"I may be able to help you, if it comes to that," Ken said, seriously. "I don't have the personal involvement with him that you do, I can see that he's a threat — not just to your people, but to everyone in the world, if he's allowed to complete his plans."

"But — I thought you were going to find your way home," Harry said, wondering what had happened to make Ken change his mind.

"There have been some — problems with that," Connell said, with the look of an omnipotent being that has somehow been frustrated by circumstances.

"You said, earlier, that you'd come all the way beyond from the Andromeda Galaxy to get home," Harry reminded him. "But how did you get so far away in the first place?"

"It was a few years after I first got the Star Brand," Ken remembered, sitting down again. Harry joined him. "I'd learned how to use it more-or-less effectively, though nowhere near the level I've found it capable of since then.

"I was still trying to decide how I should handle the kind of power the Star Brand gave me, trying to decide what I could do to make Earth a better place for people, and I was operating in secret, usually under cover of darkness. I wasn't living in Oklahoma by then — after the death of Sheriff Felix and his deputy, I could no longer walk around openly in the state without being sought by the police. I moved around from place to place, watching for disasters like the forest fires in the Northwest United States, or tornadoes or hurricanes in the Midwest and southern states.

"It was in 2008 — or perhaps 2009, I'm no longer sure, it was so long ago in my memory, I was flying across the night sky, about to settle down in the small town in Mississippi I was living in, when I saw a bright flash in the sky."  
Harry was following his every word. "A bright flash? You mean, like the White Event you mentioned earlier?"

"_Exactly_ like that," Ken said, nodding. "Yeah, I was real suspicious — especially when the news shows began describing it as the Second White Event. I checked things out pretty carefully — the first White Event had caused some people to experience unusual aftereffects, as well as what it did to me, and after the second White Event, I wanted to see if anyone else had ended up with another Star Brand. But there were no strange occurrences or articles on the news for the next several days. I had just about decided to fly out and find out what had caused Event II to occur, when it — or rather, _they_, found me."

"'_They_?'" Harry repeated, intrigued once again by the strangeness of Connell's story. "That sounds pretty ominous."

"It was," Ken agreed. "_Aliens_. To be honest, I never believed in aliens, but when they teleport you into their ship and try to strap you to an examination table, it's hard to ignore them!"

"Wow," Harry breathed, hardly daring to believe what Ken was telling him. "Are you saying they _kidnapped_ you?!"

"They tried," Ken said, grimly. "It turned out _I_ was their target. They'd learned that the device they used to arrive from wherever they came from — I've never found out where, exactly — to Earth, was the cause of the White Events. The device is some kind of probe that detect alien life — or at least, alien to _them_ — then becomes a stargate, a shortcut across interstellar distances. They told me, before I escaped, that they had been scanning the star systems in this vicinity for decades with one of their probes. When the stargate is activated, it throws off a burst of exotic radiation, with most of the energy directed in a coherent burst toward the life-bearing world it has detected. That burst of energy, back in 2006, was when the probe first arrived in orbit around the Earth's sun, about a quarter of a light year out from the sun, and detected our life signs. It's what gave me the Star Brand."

"Amazing!" Harry said again. "But — you haven't explained yet how you ended up millions of light-years from Earth."

"True," Ken said. "But now you know most of the story of how I got here. The rest is relatively boring."

"_Boring_?" Harry laughed. "It should be interesting to hear why you think _that_!"

Ken scratched an ear absently. "Well, the aliens — who, near as I could tell, by the way, weren't very different from us, though that may have been a deception on their part — and I went around and around a bit, trying to get information from each other about our plans. I wanted to know what they were planning to do to Earth, they were trying to figure out if I was a threat to them. I kept trying to impress them with the fact that I'd do whatever it took to protect the Earth, but I wasn't going to go back and pick a fight with them in their backyard — wherever it was.

"Well, finally, they went too far: they sent me a hologram showing an image of Maddy, held captive aboard their ship! By that time, I'd given up all hope of ever seeing her again, but I have to tell you Harry, the thought that she might be alive made me mad enough to want to tear that alien ship apart, to get her free. But then they took off, heading back toward their probe-ship.

"I figured they planned on holding her hostage, so I wouldn't attack them." Harry nodded; there was an old tradition in some pureblood Wizarding families that had fought blood feuds, to exchange children to be married to other members of each family, with the twofold purpose of providing an incentive not to attack one another, as well as to continue the pureblood lines. "I flew off into space, after them," Ken said. "But their ship was as fast as I was — no matter how much speed I kept imagining I could add, they kept ahead of me. When they reached the probe-ship, it expanded into a stargate configuration and the alien ship disappeared through it.

"I tried to follow it through; it was only afterwards that I realized they had lured me into the probe, setting a trap for me. When I came out the other side, there was no trace of the alien ship. And the stargate at that end went up in a godawful explosion that knocked me out for what must've been days. When I came to, I found myself in the middle of empty space, in some small globular cluster that was on the other side of, as it turns out, the Andromeda Galaxy.

Ken shrugged. "So, there was nothing for me to do but try to find my way home without using one of those stargates. I eventually figured out that I could accelerate up to nearly light speed, decreasing my subjective travel time." He looked a Harry somewhat sheepishly. "Something I guess I didn't understand about time dilation, though: even though time passes more slowly for someone traveling near light speed, objectively, it still takes millions of years for light to travel from Andromeda to the Milky Way. Most of my trip was made at nearly the speed of a photon."

"But," Harry objected, seeing a flaw in Connell's explanation, "if it took you millions of years of objective time to reach Earth, why are you here _now_, instead of millions of years from now?"

"Apparently, due to an unintended side effect of the stargate," Ken mused. "It seems that the stargate threw me millions of years back in time as well as across millions of light-years of space-time. I was able to use those years to make the trip back while catching up to the present. I was amazed, frankly, when I first arrived and found I was only off by twelve or thirteen years."

"Well, that's good, Harry said, standing up. He'd just looked at his watch and realized it was nearly dawn. "I think I should be getting back, now. But one thing — what went wrong? Why can't you get back?"

"Well, obviously," Ken began, "I'm in a parallel universe."

"Oh, of course, why didn't _I_ think of that?" Harry said, urbanely.

"In this universe," Ken went on, ignoring Harry's attempt at humor, "there is magic, something that didn't exist in my universe. Otherwise, however, it is much like my own world.

"What I'd hoped, then, was that out there in orbit around the Earth, or heading this way, was a probe similar to the one the aliens used to arrive here in my timeline. I have been scanning the heavens for any indication of one, but there's nothing out there for at least twenty light-years —"

Harry sucked in his breath. Twenty _light-years_? Just how powerful _was_ this Star Brand?

"— and they said the probe had come from the double star system nearest Earth. That would be the Alpha Centauri system," he added.

"I know," Harry said, recalling his Astronomy lessons. "But can you really see that far?"

"More like _sense_ that far," Ken explained. "I imagine that I can see tachyon particles, which travel much faster than light, and I'm able to see using them just as we normally use visible light. There is no probe between the sun and either of the Alpha Centauri stars. Which leaves me stranded here."

"I'll help however I can," Harry said at once. "And I'll get Professor Dumbledore, my headmaster at school, to help us figure out a way for you to get home, as soon as I can."

"I appreciate your help, Harry," Ken smiled at him. "But you need to take care of this Voldemort guy first. Getting rid of his junk should be your top priority."

"I can handle him, then," Harry said grimly, as he and Ken stood side by side next to each other — they would use the quicker Star Brand "Apparition" method of travel to get back to London. "And Dumbledore can help you."

There was a flash of light, and the cave was once again pitch black.

***

Back in Grimmauld Square, the two men reappeared in twin flashes of light, in front of Order headquarters. Harry glanced upward — a lightening of the eastern skies signaled the approaching dawn. He turned to Connell, gesturing toward number twelve, but the tall man didn't move. "You should spend some time with your friends," Ken told him. "I think it would do you some good to let them know how you feel about killing Voldemort now, before they get the impression that you're more ruthless than you really are. I'll be in touch." Harry nodded, and Connell disappeared.

Harry walked toward number twelve, telling the front door to unlock, then passing through and locking it behind him. The house was quiet in the pre-dawn darkness, but Harry could see well enough with his now-enhanced vision. He made his way into the empty dining room, sitting down in front of the dying embers of the fireplace. He didn't feel sleepy, but he wasn't going to go around waking people up just because he was awake. He would wait until they found him sitting here.

"Harry? Harry!"

It seemed like only a moment later, but Ron was suddenly there, a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. Harry blinked; he'd fallen asleep, even though he hadn't been sleepy.

"Oh, Harry! Are you all right?" Hermione was there too, staring at him with worry and concern in her eyes.

"What time is it?" Harry asked blearily, rubbing his eyes.

"Almost lunch," Ron said. "Mum and Ginny showed up a while ago, Mum's down in the kitchen." He looked toward the door. "I guess they didn't see you when they came in." The chair Harry was sitting in had its back to the door; it would have been difficult to see him from the hallway.

"Harry," Hermione said, settling into a nearby chair and staring intently at him. "The last we saw of you, you took that — that head, and disappeared. We tried to wait up for you but Professor Lupin finally made us go to bed. Did you go see Professor Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded; Hermione and Ron looked at one another. "So, is that it?" Ron asked, anxiously. "Is he really dead, then?"

Both of them were staring at him with such intensity that Harry felt vaguely uncomfortable. He needed to talk to _someone_ about what he knew. Dumbledore had asked him not to talk about the Horcruxes. But — surely that request didn't include Ron and Hermione too, did it? "Let's go upstairs," he said quietly.

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other quizzically, then followed Harry up to his and Ron's room. With the door closed, Harry started to pull out his wand, then changed his mind and simply imagined the entire room was completely Imperturbable. "Okay," he said, now that they couldn't be overheard. "Voldemort's dead, but he's not really dead," he said, ignoring their winces at his mention of the name.

Ron shook his head, confused. "What's _that_ supposed to mean? Come on, Harry, if I wanted a riddle to figure out, I'd read the latest issue of _Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_."

Harry gave them the same information about Horcruxes that Dumbledore had told him. Both Ron and Hermione were horrified by his pronouncement, he noted. Truth to tell, however, now that Harry's mind had had a few hours to process it, and some sleep, he wasn't that worried about things anymore. With the power of the Star Brand, and Ron, Hermione and Ken's help, and the Order backing him, they could probably get this cleaned up before his trial on the twelfth of August.

"And how do you feel now, Harry?" Hermione asked, seeming to divine his change of mood. "You seem different than last night."

"I feel different now than I did, then," Harry admitted. "I was still pretty sore about being left out of stuff this past month, but most of my anger was gone after I killed Voldemort."

"You had pretty good reason to be sore at him, though, mate," Ron argued. "Look at all the crap he's put you through!"

Hermione suddenly slapped herself on the head. "Of course! Harry! I just realized! You've been angry with us for the past month, right?"  
"Well, yeah," Harry agreed. He wasn't proud of it, but it was the truth.

"And all this time Voldemort's been out there somewhere, biding his time, right?"  
"Right," Harry agreed again. "He was probably at Malfoy Manor most of that time, I reckon."

"And," Hermione went on, "There have been times you've felt pain in your scar when V-voldemort's near, or very angry or upset, right?"

"Right…" Harry suddenly realized what she was driving at. "You think I was getting angrier and angrier all this time because I was feeling what _Voldemort_ was feeling? Hermione, that makes sense!" Harry snorted. "It's ironic, too! I went after Voldemort because I was angry enough to do something about the situation — I didn't care about anything except getting rid of him! If _he_ was the one making me angry — then Voldemort brought about his own death, because of his anger! I just wish it had been his final one," Harry added, bitterly.

"So what happens next?" Ron wanted to know. "What if we find these — these 'Horcruxes' and destroy them all — then what? Does Voldemort die or what?"

"If he manages to regenerate his body before the Horcruxes are gone," Harry said, remembering what Dumbledore had told him, "I'll have to kill him a final time. If hasn't — well, it's a lot less clear what happens. Dumbledore says his soul might just disappear when the last Horcrux is destroyed; or, if he's possessed someone, he might be able to completely take them over. Nobody knows for sure."

"Do — do you think you can kill him again?" Hermione asked, timidly.

"I'll have to," Harry said, grimly. "There's too much at stake not to, no matter how I feel about killing someone, even an evil monster like Voldemort. I can't let someone else do it for me, either."

Ron looked around, nervously. "No offense, Harry, but I don't think either of us are volunteering."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione said, exasperated. "Of _course_ we'd volunteer to help Harry!"

But Harry shook his head. "I didn't mean either of you. There's someone else — the person who gave me this." He held up his hand, showing them the Star Brand, then briefly explained how he met Ken Connell, how he'd come to possess the symbol on his palm, and the power it gave him.

"That's incredible, Harry!" Hermione marveled, after he finished. "But really, with something like that, I'm not sure why you'd even need us."

"Well, because I'm not all that imaginative," Harry admitted. "You and Ron both think about things differently than I do, and that's helped us get out of spots in the past.

"Plus," he went on, "we've still got those Horcruxes to find, and until I can find on, and hold it or touch it, I won't be able to really imagine what one feels like. If I knew that, I think I could use the Star Brand power to find the rest."

A silver figure suddenly burst silently through the door of the room, moving toward the three Hogwarts students. As Ron and Hermione, both startled, began to turn toward the oncoming figure, Harry's reaction was immediate: He put up his hand in a stopping motion, intending to halt whatever was coming toward them. There was a brilliant flash of white as a bolt of energy shot from Harry's hand, and the silver figure was thrown back through the door, which shattered it to pieces as the bolt hit it.

Two other figures appeared through the ruins of the door, but Harry recognized them this time — they were Patronuses, both in the same form, and probably the same as the Patronus Harry had inadvertently repelled.

Ron and Hermione had recognized them as well, and were now watching the figures, to see what they'd do. One approached Ron and said, in Arthur Weasley's voice, "Ron, would you please come down, and bring Harry and Hermione if they're with you. Professor Dumbledore is here with news." It then scurried off, as the other Patronus repeated much the same message to Hermione, addressing her rather than Ron, then followed its twin out the ruined doorway. The third Patronus, presumably Harry's did not reappear.

"I guess we'd better see what's up," Harry said, his tone a bit ironic, and they left the room; Harry paused just long enough to imagine the door back together, as with a _Reparo_ spell, and it was immediately back together. Walking down the steps behind Ron and Hermione, Harry made his eyes capable of seeing through solid materials again, and turned up his hearing, to listen to what was being said downstairs. He saw the group of people gathered on the ground floor, but no one was saying anything, though he could see them giving each other significant looks.

On the ground floor, Dumbledore had gathered everyone in the dining room: Sirius was there, along with Remus, Arthur and Molly Weasley, and Mad-Eye Moody, and Fred, George and Ginny. The latter three nodded to Harry as he entered, and Harry returned their eye contact with a small smile and nod, letting them know he was okay again.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him, "and Hermione and Ronald as well. Alastor and I have just returned from the Ministry after a meeting with Cornelius.

"I'm afraid our dear Minister is not in a very forgiving mood," Dumbledore went on, his tone neither sarcastic nor upset. "He remains unconvinced by the evidence I delivered to Rufus Scrimgeour this morning."

"Bloody idiot," Moody muttered under his breath, but loud enough to be heard by everyone there.

"Alastor," Dumbledore said, mildly reproachful. "It is certainly Cornelius's right to remain personally unconvinced, though I had hoped he would not be so difficult." He sighed. "We must remain hopeful that Madam Bones will be more impartial in her jurisprudence."

"So the trial is still on?" Harry gleaned from the preceding conversation.

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. "In fact, there are additional charges being filed, Cornelius has informed me."

"_More_ charges?" Hermione said, stunned. "What else could they possibly charge Harry with _now_?"

"I believe there was the matter of a personal assault on Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry over the tops of his half-moon glasses. "As well as the destruction of Malfoy Manor." Dumbledore wasn't exactly smiling, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement.

"My goodness!" Mrs. Weasley said, looking at Harry in surprise. "You wouldn't have done any of those things, would you, dear?"

"I'm afraid so, Mrs. Weasley," Harry admitted.

"Wicked!" Fred and George exclaimed in unison.

"Wow," Ginny said, under her breath, though only Harry heard her.

"Harboring a wizard wanted by the Ministry in connection with a crime is a criminal offense," Moody said, in his growly voice. "Harry probably shouldn't have trespassed on the Malfoy's property, but if Voldemort was in there, he had the right t' go in an' get 'im, and they'd have t' give him up, or be in violation of the law themselves."

"I doubt if the Ministry will bring up those points, Alastor, as relevant as they are," Dumbledore said, a trace of merriment in his voice. "We shall just have to wait until 9 a.m. on August 12th, when Harry's hearing begins, to see what points _will_ be brought up."

Moody snorted disgustedly, and Harry agreed with his sentiments — it was stupid for the Ministry to try and proceed with these charges. Even if they managed to convict him, they weren't going to take his wand from him — the Star Brand would make sure of that!

At that moment, as if his thoughts had been spoken aloud to everyone in the room, Dumbledore turned to him and said, "Harry, I trust you do not plan to make a scene at the hearing — it would not be in your best interest to tip your hand too soon, in regards to the power you now possess."

Harry looked at the headmaster for several long seconds before shaking his head. "No, sir," he said. "I won't make a scene — if _they_ don't."

"What's all this talk about?" Mrs. Weasley said, looking around at them with a confused expression on her face. "Has something happened to Harry that nobody's told me about?"

Remus, Sirius and Moody glanced at one another, as did Ron and Hermione. Harry noticed that Fred and George's eyes flicked toward each other for a moment as well, while Ginny stared straight ahead, not looking at anyone. _They knew, somehow_, Harry realized. How could that be? He had just told Ron and Hermione himself, only a short while ago!

"Molly, I will explain during the meeting," Dumbledore said. He had not looked at anyone else after Mrs. Weasley's question, either, but he already knew what had happened to Harry, how he'd gained the Star Brand. "The others should be here by noon. We should have Harry and the others retire to their rooms until we're ready for lunch, afterwards."

"Why can't I attend?" Harry asked unexpectedly. The other students looked on, interested, as everyone turned to Dumbledore.

"Well, Harry, as you are not yet a member of the Order, and are underage and unqualified, it would be inappropriate," Dumbledore replied, quietly.

"I don't suppose the fact that I killed Voldemort yesterday changes anything?" Harry commented sardonically. "I mean, what else were you going to talk about?"

"Harry —!" Mrs. Weasley began, sounding both reproachful and outraged, but her husband laid a hand on her shoulders, and she stopped, her mouth pressed into a flat line.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, as if Molly hadn't spoken, "for now, please accept my decision. Later, we will have a discussion that is more appropriate for all to attend." He waited patiently for Harry's response.

The entire room was silent for several uncomfortable seconds. Finally, Harry shrugged, saying "Fine," and walked up the staircase, followed by Hermione and the Weasley children. Harry didn't stop until he'd reached the second floor, marching into the room where he'd first found Ron. Everyone else followed him into the room. Ginny shut the door behind them. Without telling anyone, Harry made the room Imperturbable once again.

"Wow, Harry, I'm impressed," Fred said, looking at him with admiration. "I didn't think you'd actually do something like burn the Malfoys' house down!"

"And beat up Malfoy as well," George added, beaming at Harry. "You must be stronger than you look!"

Harry looked at George. "Oh, you have no idea!" He then retold the story of meeting Kenneth Connell in the play park in Little Whinging, being given the Star Brand, then finding Dudley and being attacked by the dementors, Mrs. Figg helping him take Dudley home, his uncle attacking him twice and being taken to the hospital after the mysterious Howler convinced his aunt Petunia to let him stay, and his coming to Grimmauld Place and realizing what he needed to do about Voldemort, going to Malfoy Manor and beheading the Dark Lord, returning with the head to show to the other Order members, then delivering it to Dumbledore. They all listened, even Ron and Hermione, without saying a word. When it was all over, Fred looked at all of them, elated.

"Well, that's it, then! Voldemort is dead! It's all over!"

Ron opened his mouth, but Harry spoke first. "I still have to get through the hearing at the Ministry, but after that, things should be back to normal."

"What were you going to say, Ron?" Ginny asked him.

"Er —" Ron looked uncomfortable for a moment, then nodded at Harry. "Pretty much what Harry did, that we had to get past his hearing before it was 'all over.'"

In due course they were summoned down to eat (Harry had kept an eye on the meeting, down in the kitchen, but didn't eavesdrop, as much as he was tempted to) and Lupin stood up (since Professor Dumbledore had gone back to Hogwarts) and explained that Kingsley (a tall, black wizard who was apparently an Auror) reported the Ministry had brought in several Dark wizard specialists, ostensibly for a routine meeting, but actually in order to examine the head Dumbledore had brought to Scrimgeour. Kingsley would report back, Lupin said, when more information was forthcoming. Lupin then sat back down.

"Is that all there was to the meeting?" Harry asked, surprised. He looked around at the other members present. Some of those who had been present at the meeting itself, like Snape and a few others, had already left, but there were still others present around the kitchen table: the aforementioned Kingsley; an elderly male wizard whose breath seemed to come in wheezes, and a pink-cheeked witch with black hair, seated next to him. Across from her was a stately looking witch with light brown hair, and next to her, a square-jawed wizard with thick, straw-colored hair. All of them had spoken during the meeting; though Harry hadn't heard what was said, he'd seen each of them speaking. "It seems like there was a lot of talking for just that little bit of information to come out of it."

"A lot of our meeting's on a 'need-to-know' basis," Moody growled impatiently. "An' you're not on the list, Potter." A few of the other Order members around the table were whispering to one another — "But if he's killed You-Know-Who, what're we doing here?" "Albus must have his reasons — he knows what he's doing." "I wonder if this Potter lad can help me with a business deal up in Puddlemere —" "— _No_, Dung!"

"Now Moody —! That's not the only reason, Harry," Lupin said hastily, trying to smooth things over. But Harry wasn't having it.

"You don't want to tell me, that's fine," he said, flatly. "But don't expect me to go along with anything just because you tell me to. I'll be making my own decisions from now on." Harry stood and walked out of the room, ignoring Lupin's pleas for him to remain. He stomped up the staircase and into his room, flinging the door shut — it nearly broke in half as it jammed itself into the frame, but at a thought from Harry the cracks and breaks quickly disappeared.

Two could play this "keep your friends in the dark game," Harry decided, flopping onto the bed Ron hadn't used the night before. He was going to get through the hearing, hopefully with Dumbledore's help, but one way or another, he'd make sure everyone knew that, first, he and his cousin had been attacked by dementors in Little Whinging, and second, he was at Malfoy Manor to find and kill Voldemort, and that the Dark Lord's head was now at the Ministry of Magic. Then, come what may, he was going to find Voldemort's Horcruxes and get rid of them, and Voldemort, forever.

***

The next week was not particularly pleasant for anyone living at number twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry, while not rude to anyone, was not in a cheerful mood, even when talking privately with Ron and Hermione, which he did, interspersed with time he spent reading the Dark Arts books given to him by Professor Dumbledore.

The books contained dreadful, horrible Dark magic, but Harry poured over them, keen to understand the mindset of the Dark Arts practitioner, of which Voldemort would be a prime example.

Horcruxes, he found, were considered the crowning achievement of the Dark Arts. The idea of preserving one's soul in an inanimate object was perhaps as old as magic itself, but the alternate concept in use by the ancients, the _phylactery_, was much more difficult to create and use, as it stored a wizard's entire soul, not just part of it, and the magical skill required to create it, then transfer one's soul into it, was much greater than needed for the creation of a Horcrux, which required only a wand, the magical words, and the object to hold the fragment of soul, as well as the victim to be murdered.

It was Herpo the Foul, Harry read, an ancient Greek who lived around the time of the sorceress Circe, who first formulated and used the Horcrux creation spell. According to the legends Herpo, who had also created the first Basilisk (as a Parselmouth, Herpo had learned that he could command snakes), intended to place part of his soul within the creature, which by his design would live for hundreds of years, thus giving him (so he believed) time to find a means to restore his failing human body to youth and full vitality.

What Herpo realized too late, Harry discovered as he read further, was that Basilisk venom was one of the few substances that could break the Horcrux Creation spell, and that Basilisk was one of the few living creatures that cannot be enchanted as a Horcrux. As he was in ill-health at the time, and further weakened by the murder of the Greek villager he was using to divide his soul, the failure of the creation spell on the Basilisk had the undesirable consequences (at least from Herpo's perspective) of enraging the Basilisk, which bolted away, incidentally running over Herpo in the process and crushing him. With no one to control it, the Basilisk ran amuck through several Greek villages, killing many people and Petrifying a few who saw its reflection in water or in polished shields or helmets. The legends do not say what finally happened to this Basilisk; it was presumably brought under control by another Parselmouth and either destroyed or sealed away where it could do no harm.

Once created, only a few special substances could destroy the enchantment binding the soul to the Horcrux: the aforementioned Basilisk venom; and _Fiendfyre_, a powerful cursed fire. The texts also mentioned, Harry read, that the Killing Curse could destroy a Horcrux created using a living being, but that it was expected not to work against inanimate Horcruxes.

Harry, Ron and Hermione discussed these ideas in Harry and Ron's room, between cleaning sessions of Grimmauld Place being supervised by Mrs. Weasley. Having realized that they were influenced by Dumbledore's orders not to reveal information to him, Harry wasn't quite as upset with them as he'd originally been; Dumbledore could be a quite a charismatic and forceful leader, and Harry didn't believe he had other than the best intentions for him. He just didn't realize, Harry believed, that not everyone followed his chain of logic.

Harry rarely saw any of the rest of the Order before the hearing, other than Sirius, Lupin, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He remained polite during that time to all of them, but stayed aloof, avoiding Lupin's questions about the Star Brand and Sirius's overtures of godfatherly friendliness. He saw very little of Mr. Weasley, who was being kept busy at the Ministry.

He did see quite a lot of Mrs. Weasley, however. Ron's mother had taken it upon herself, as the most knowledgeable member of the Order in matters domestic, to clean up the Black family's ancestral home and clear out the various beasts and creature infesting it.

It took them several days to clean out and remove the various infestations in the house, but Mrs. Weasley kept them at it relentlessly, though she herself kept getting interrupted by visitors ringing the front bell for admittance. "I've _told_ them to just come in!" she said at one point, exasperatedly. "Don't they realize that if they can _find_ the place, we know who they are!" Fortunately, with the portrait of Sirius's mother removed (which Harry had done his first night there), the ringing doorbell didn't set her off into a screaming frenzy.

There were all sorts of strange things in the Black home; some were innocuous, but many could be downright dangerous. One of the first things they had to do was get rid of a ghoul living in an upstairs toilet since, unlike most ghouls (for example, the one in the attic at the Burrow), which were mostly afraid of people, it tended to knock people who came in to use the bathroom in the head and attempt to stuff them headfirst into the toilet, which was hardly welcome behavior if you had to be up in the middle of the night to have a tinkle. There was an old grandfather clock that tended to shoot bolts at anyone passing by it; a doorway in one of the upstairs bedrooms kept trying to shut on people if they weren't careful walking through it.

In the drawing room, as well as the tapestry of the Black family tree, there were glass cabinets with many interesting (and dangerous) items in them. After they'd cleared the draperies of doxies, they began carefully cleaning out the glass cabinets, being wary of Dark items. There were still a few close calls: Harry was bitten by a silver snuffbox, as he watched, his hand began to form a thick, brown crust on it. He was going to use the Star Brand power to make it disappear, but Sirius gave the hand a tap with his wand and it cleared up immediately; Sirius said the snuffbox probably had Wartcap Powder in it. A short while later, a strange-looking silver instrument, looking like a multi-legged set of tweezers, ran up Ron's arm and tried to stab him in the shoulder. Harry instantly froze the item in its tracks, then picked it off Ron's arm, remarking, "Looks a bit like a spider, doesn't it?" making Ron shudder. After examining it carefully Harry caused it to collapse into dust.

There was also a heavy gold locket, inscribed with an ornate letter _S_ that looked vaguely like it had a serpent's head. Nothing happened when they touched it, but none of them could get the locket to open, not even Fred or George. Harry briefly considered using his power to open it, but decided that it would be pointless to do so — they were simply going to throw it away, so what did it matter was inside it?

Finally by Wednesday, the evening before the day of his hearing, all of the rooms were more or less cleared of rubbish and any pests that were lurking about. The ghoul had been removed, as was the boggart inside the writing desk in the drawing room. The only pest left in the house, Sirius said with a sour laugh, was Kreacher, the family's one remaining house-elf, and that was because Dumbledore insisted that he could not be freed, since he knew the location of number twelve Grimmauld Place. "If it were up to me, though," Sirius had said with an angry shrug, "I would have given him clothes, and be done with him!"

After dinner, Harry started up the staircase to return to his room, when Mrs. Weasley stopped him. "Harry, I've ironed your best set of clothes for tomorrow morning. Would you wash your hair tonight, please—a first impression can do wonders to for your chances with Amelia Bones."

Harry felt his spirits dive into his stomach. "Who's she?" he asked, with some trepidation.

"The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Mrs. Weasley said, patting his arm, which was resting on the banister, reassuringly. Except that Harry didn't feel any more reassured. "Tonks tells me she's fair and she'll listen to what you say." Harry nodded, with a smile he didn't mean, and went upstairs to his room. Flopping onto his bed, Harry wondered just what he would do, tomorrow, if for some reason he wasn't acquitted of the charges, and they tried to take his wand away. He didn't really _need_ his wand now, of course — the Star Brand was a much more powerful device, and it was pretty much part of him, now; no one, and nothing he could imagine could take it away from him, unless he let them. And he wasn't going to let them. If it came down to it, Harry figured, he could imagine his wand back together again, whole, and that's the way it would be.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and Hermione stuck her head in. "Hi," she said, a bit timidly. "I — I wondered how you were feeling?"

Harry let his feet roll off the bed and onto the floor, sitting up. "I don't know," he finally shrugged. "I know what I did wasn't wrong, but I don't know if that's going to matter — especially if the Ministry wants to make some kind of example of me. I wouldn't put it past them."

"Amelia Bones is a fair woman," Hermione said, echoing what Mrs. Weasley had told him earlier. "Just tell her the truth and don't try to second-guess yourself, and you'll do fine." She looked away for a moment, then back at Harry. "Ron will be up in a moment, everyone's getting ready for bed. I'll — I'll talk to you tomorrow morning." She started to close the door.

"Hermione!" Harry said, suddenly. She stopped, looking at him expectantly. "I… just… wanted to say, 'thank you,' for coming up to reassure me. Nobody else has."

Hermione nodded, her eyes bright. "We all feel that way, Harry," she said, very earnestly. "You'll be back with us at Hogwarts, come September first."

Harry nodded, and Hermione closed the door; Harry thought he saw her cover her mouth, as if she were stopping herself from speaking, and his eyes adjusted to see through the door. He watched, very surprised, as she pressed her fingertips to her lips, and touched it to the closed door. Then, heaving a long, silent sigh and wiping her eyes, she went down the hall to where her room was.

Harry remained still for a long time, trying to understand what he'd seen. _Why_ had she pressed a kiss to his door? Could it have been to wish him luck — but Harry was pretty sure saying "Good luck!" to him would have been a better way to do that. Had she meant it for Ron? His two best friends didn't get along so well, sometimes, but they'd always managed to patch things up between them before.

Harry was still pondering the implications when Ron entered the room, yawning hugely. "I'm beat," he announced, dropping onto his bed. "Thank Merlin we finally got this bloody house cleaned today — I'm sleeping in 'til noon tomorrow!" When Harry gave him an annoyed glance, Ron suddenly looked sheepish. "Oops — sorry, mate. I forgot, your hearing's tomorrow morning, isn't it?"

"Nine a.m.," Harry muttered. He picked up his pajama bottoms from the edge of his bed. "Gonna go wash my hair," he said, flatly. "Your mum says it'll make a good first impression on Amelia Bones."

"Good idea," Ron agreed. "You just gotta remember to act humble, you know, not like you expect them to just agree with you —" But Harry had already crossed to the door, without another word, and was gone.

***

The next morning, Harry's eyes snapped open at half-past five, as if he'd been awake all night. He looked over at Ron, who was lying on his back, his mouth open, snoring softly. He'd been asleep by the time Harry got back to the room last night after washing his hair, and Harry hadn't felt like waking him, then or now. _Let him sleep 'til noon, then, if that's what he wants_, Harry thought sourly. He got up and put on his jeans and T-shirt, then crept silently down the stairs to the kitchen, where he found several people already there, as if waiting for him.

"Morning, Harry," Mrs. Weasley smiled, standing up and pulling out her wand as she hurried over to the fire. "Breakfast?"

"Just some toast," Harry muttered. Tonks, Lupin, Sirius and Mr. Weasley were also there; Mr. Weasley, rather than wearing wizard's robes, had on a pair of trousers and, weirdly to Harry's eyes, a bomber jacket.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, as Mrs. Weasley set a few slices of toast and some marmalade in front of him.

"Fine," Harry said. It wasn't quite a lie. He no longer felt nervous or upset about the hearing. There was nothing they could really do to him, anyway. And the evidence would bear him out, as long as Amelia Bones was as fair as everyone seemed to think she was.

No one else spoke for some time, until Sirius muttered, "Remember not to lose your temper — just be polite and stick to the facts."

"The law's on your side on this," Lupin reminded him. "Lucius Malfoy is trying to distract attention from the fact that he was harboring the Dark Lord in his home."

"Well, it looks like they've done it," Harry shrugged, "since I'm the one having a hearing and not Malfoy."

Mr. Weasley looked at his watch, then kissed his wife on the cheek. Harry followed him upstairs and out the front door. It was a cold, gray morning, with sunlight just beginning to show in the east. They walked to the street, Harry noticing how number twelve seemed to try and fold in upon itself, as Ron and Hermione had described it happening whenever they left the house. But Sirius's home could never hide from him again, now that he knew where it was.

Mr. Weasley was walking briskly around the Square. Harry caught up with him again and asked, "You don't usually walk to work, do you, Mr. Weasley?"

"No," he replied cheerfully. "I usually Apparate. But you're not old enough to Apparate —"

"I can Apparate," Harry cut over him. "It's actually better than Apparating, since there's none of the uncomfortable feeling Fred and George have told me about."

Arthur stopped, looking at him. "Really? That would be interesting to try," he mused, although clearly torn about advising Harry to do something the Wizarding world considered illegal, especially on their way to a disciplinary hearing!

But — "Harry, we can't just appear in the Ministry," Mr. Weasley argued. "Questions would be asked. You'll need a visitor's badge, too. I'm afraid it's out of the question."

"We don't have to appear inside," Harry pointed out, reasonably. "We can go wherever we need to, to get my badge. All you need to do is imagine where we should appear, and I'll do the rest."

Arthur dithered, uncertain. "I don't know…" When Harry gave him a _will-you-grow-a-backbone-please_ look, though, the older Weasley put a resolute expression on and said, "By gum, Harry, let's give it a go!"

"Great!" Harry said, grinning. "Okay, think of where we need to appear." A look of concentration came over Arthur's features, and Harry touched his shoulder, just as Connell had done when they first met. In Arthur's mental point of view he could see a wall covered in graffiti, with an old, red phone booth sitting in front of it, battered and missing several panes of glass. "Here we go," he said. Arthur jerked at the sudden flash of light around them, then stared at the phone booth they now stood next to. He looked around. They were there.

"My word, Harry!" he said, awed. "That was very impressive! It didn't feel like Apparating at all!" He looked around, seeing that they were exactly where he had imagined them being. "I just felt a slight tug, along with that flash of light…Well, we'd best get inside, then, before we're noticed." He looked around again, more furtively this time, then stepped into the booth.

"Let's see," Mr. Weasley said, peering at the phone as Harry stepped in behind him. The phone was hanging crookedly, as if some vandal had tried to tear it out. It was a very old style phone, with a dial with holes in it rather than buttons. He took the receiver off the hook and held it over his head, making Harry smile. "The number is, er, six…two…four… and another four, then another…two." The dial spun slowly back into place.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," a woman's cool voice said, seeming to come from the booth itself, not the receiver. "Please state your name and business."

Mr. Weasley explained who he and Harry were, as Harry looked around, to see if anyone had noticed them yet. There was no one around. The street looked almost completely deserted, in fact.

There was a sudden shudder, and they began moving downward, into the sidewalk. Harry watched apprehensive as it disappeared above their heads as the booth moved downward. Once the top of the sidewalk passed out of view, however, Harry sensed the booth speeding up remarkably, though he felt no acceleration. It didn't help either that they were enveloped in total darkness. Harry adjusted his eyes to see infrared, and Mr. Weasley popped back into view, his face and hands in vivid contrast to his darker jacket and trousers.

"We're going pretty far underground," Harry said, to no one in particular, and Mr. Weasley nodded, probably by reflex; he couldn't know that Harry could see him quite clearly.

"The Ministry is pretty far underground," Arthur said. "When we reach the Atrium we'll be almost fifteen hundred feet under the streets of London."

A minute later they began to slow down, and a sliver of light appeared at their feet; Harry let his vision lapse back to normal. As the booth opened, Arthur turned and pinned a badge onto Harry's T-shirt. Harry glanced at it, reading upside down the words _Harry Potter_, _Disciplinary Hearing_. They spent a few minutes at a bored security guard's checkpoint, where his wand was weighed, then proceeded to an elevator behind a golden grille, where they rode upward again, to the second floor, where Arthur's office was located on the far end. It was about 7:45 by now, over an hour before the hearing, and Harry began to wonder what he would do to pass the time.

In Mr. Weasley's cramped, dingy office, which somehow looked smaller than Harry's cupboard-under-the-stairs had been, there were two ancient-looking desks crammed inside, facing opposite walls, and every inch of floor space along the walls were crammed with filing cabinets, all covered with stacks of teetering file folders. The walls themselves, at least the ones around the desk bearing the name plaque _Arthur Weasley_, were covered in posters of old Muggle automobiles, pictures of post boxes, and a diagram showing how to wire a plug. Next to the in-tray, in which a toaster sat hiccupping, was a photograph of the Weasley family, with everyone waving at him except Percy, who was standing off to one side, picking his nose, Harry realized with disgust. It was quite a bit to take in at once, Harry decided.

Suddenly a deep voice just behind him startled Harry. "Weasley, do you have a moment? I need a word." The voice was familiar — Harry turned and was surprised to see Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"I'm a bit busy at the moment," Arthur said, distractedly. "I'm escorting a visitor and can't leave him alone." They were both speaking coolly, as if they hardly knew one another, a complete reversal of what Harry remembered from only days ago. Harry opened his mouth —

"Just a moment, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, holding up a hand. "Auror Shacklebolt and I will need to confer for a moment." There was pressure on his shoe and Harry looked down, seeing Arthur's foot on his.

But at that moment an elderly wizard appeared at the door of the office, panting. "Oh, Arthur, you're here!" he said, breathlessly. I was about to go send you an owl! The time and venue for the Potter boy's hearing's been changed!"

"What?" Arthur said, turning around to face the old wizard. "When and where, Perkins — quickly!"

"They've moved it down to old Courtroom Ten, at eight o'clock!"

"Merlin's beard!" Arthur swore. "Sorry, Shacklebolt, this will have to wait. Harry, come on! We can just make it down there in time!"

Leaving Kingsley and Perkins staring after them, Harry followed Mr. Weasley as he raced back across the floor to the elevators, jabbing impatiently at the call button.

"Why would they change the time?" Harry asked, though he already had an idea as to the reason. There was not even going to be a pretense of fairness in this hearing, he guessed.

"I have no idea," Arthur said, fretfully. "We're just lucky we're here so early — if we'd taken the Muggle way to get here, we'd have been late!" The elevator came and they hurried inside, pressing the button marked "9."

The ride down seemed interminably long, with Mr. Weasley anxiously jabbing the "9" button each time the elevator stopped, until finally it opened and the cool female voice announced, "Department of Mysteries," then fell silent.

Arthur led Harry at a quick trot down a bare-walled corridor to a corner where they faced a black door, then turned left and down a flight of steps. At the bottom was yet another corridor, this one looking more like a dungeon hallway, with rough stone walls and lighted braziers along the walls. Every so often they would pass great wooden doors with iron bolts and keyholes.

Finally, in front of a great door, grimy with age and rust, Arthur slumped against a nearby wall, breathing heavily. "Here it is," he panted. "Go on in, Harry."

"Aren't you coming?" Harry asked, suddenly uneasy at the thought of going through that door. It would help to have someone familiar with him.

"I can't," Arthur shook his head, breathing deeply. "I'm not allowed, I'm not part of the hearing." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Good luck, Harry!"


	3. Miscalculation

The Potter Brand

Chapter 3

"Miscalculation"

Harry nodded, his own breath coming quicker, then pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. What he saw inside made him gasp, for he had seen this room before. He had visited this place in Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve, just months earlier, and had witnessed the trials of Ludo Bagman, Barty Crouch, Jr. and the Lestranges.

Gray stone walls surrounded him on all sides, fronted before and on either side of him with tiered stone benches, all dimly lit with torches. On the benches, Harry could just make out, were shadowy figures who were revealed to be witches and wizards of various ages, when he adjusted his eyes to see more clearly.

As the door closed shut of its own accord behind him, a cold male voice rang out, "You've very nearly late!"

"Sorry," Harry said, in a tone that probably convinced no one he felt any remorse at all. "The time and place were suddenly changed."

"You were sent an owl advising you of the change," the voice said, indifferently. "It is not the Wizengamot's fault if you're late."

Looking about the room with his enhanced eyes, Harry could see about fifty or so witches and wizards in the raised benches around him, all staring down their noses at him with various expressions on their faces: some appeared curious to see him, some wore either indifferent or hostile expressions. In the center, directly in front of him, was the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, who was giving him one of the more hostile stares in the room, Harry thought.

"Very well, then," Fudge said, looking around. "As it is nearly eight, let us begin. Are you ready?" he asked, looking to his left, to the end of the row.

"Yes, sir!" a familiar voice said eagerly. Harry stared up and saw Percy Weasley, perched at the end of the front row, quill in hand. Harry expected a nod from him, but Percy did not look up or otherwise acknowledge his presence. What was going on?

Fudge began the hearing, and Percy's quill began moving furiously as the Minister spoke, stating the particulars of the case and naming off the officers of the court: himself, Cornelius Fudge; Amelia Bones; a Senior Undersecretary named Dolores Umbridge; Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour; and the Court Scribe, Percy Weasley.

"Will you have any witnesses to call in your defense, Mr. Potter?" Fudge asked smoothly, after a moment of silence, during which Percy seemed to be shuffling pages of parchment around rapidly.

"I — I expected Professor Dumbledore to be here," Harry said, looking around. Dumbledore didn't seem to be there, however.

"In what capacity?" Fudge demanded.

"Uh — I don't know what you'd call it," Harry said. "He — he was going to help me present my case."

"_Was_ he?" Fudge smirked. There were a few, muted chuckles from the gallery, and one high-pitched, girlish giggle — quickly silenced as Fudge raised a quieting hand. "Well, I suggest you get yourself in hand, Mr. Potter, and quickly, too — this court will have no choice but to summarily rule against you if you do not present your case in a timely way."

Harry swore to himself. He'd been correct — there was no chance he was going to get a fair hearing here, without Dumbledore and with the entire Wizengamot assembled against him. Even Amelia Bones, seated in the front row, seemed to be with Fudge on this, although her expression was neutral. If there was nothing he could do here, he would simply leave, using the power of the Star Brand — even Hermione couldn't fault him for backing away from insurmountable odds.

But wait a minute! _Insurmountable odds_? Did that phrase really mean anything to someone who wielded supposedly _infinite_ power? _If you can will a thing be done, it shall be done_, Connell had told him. The only thing that limited him was his own imagination.

If Connell had gotten information from Harry's own mind, just by touching him, why couldn't he do something similar with everyone present — learn everything all of them knew about Wizarding law, and use it to help _him_? Harry could easily imagine this, and imagined inhaling all of that knowledge into his brain as he took a deep breath. A whirlwind of information flooded his brain, so much that for a moment all Harry could see or hear was the reams of documents, law texts and courtroom proceedings flooding his brain, so much that for a moment he staggered. There was a collective sigh throughout the courtroom, and many people suddenly shook or held their heads. Harry shook his own head, half-dazed. Suddenly, he _knew_ what to do, he _knew_ how to proceed. It would be simple — child's play! Lupin and Dumbledore had been right — there was no chance for the Ministry to win this case, it was merely desperation on Fudge's part, as well as a distraction, to hide Malfoy's guilt. Harry closed his eyes, marshalling his thoughts.

"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?" Amelia Bones asked, looking at him with concern. Her hand was to her own brow — she must've felt some type of backlash from his access of the knowledge in her brain.

"I'm fine," Harry said confidently. "I'm ready to proceed." He sat down in the chair in the center of the floor, looking relaxed as he crossed his legs absently.

Fudge eyed him suspiciously but began reading the charges. "The charges against the accused are as follows: That he knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of his actions, illegally produced a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, an offense under Section C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, also under section thirteen of the International Wizards' Statute of Secrecy.

"That he knowingly and deliberately assaulted a wizard within the privacy of his home, an offense under Section E, paragraph two, of the British Statutes of Wizarding Law.

"And finally, that he knowingly, deliberately, and maliciously caused the home of a wizarding family to ignite, destroying it and all its contents, an offense under Sections B, paragraphs four and six, of the British Statutes of Wizarding Law." Fudge glanced at Percy, seeing him finish adding the charges into the hearing transcript, then turned a baleful eye back to Harry.

"You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge asked severely, glaring at Harry over the parchment he had just read from.

"Yes," Harry replied, quietly.

"Did you receive an official warning from the Ministry for using magic illegally, three years ago?"

"Yes, I did," Harry replied, a bit impatiently, wanting to get to the meat of the arguments, now that he saw how to defeat them.

"Yet, you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?" Fudge went on, a sneer of triumph now in his voice.

"Yes, I did," Harry answered.

"Knowing that you are not allowed to use magic outside of school while you are under seventeen, nor in the presence of Muggles?" Fudge smirked.

"Except as allowed by clause seven," Harry said, calmly. "Which says that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and —"

"We know what clause seven says, thank you very much!" Fudge snapped. "What exceptional circumstances do you claim existed at the time of your illegal magic use?"

"At that time," Harry stated, "my cousin Dudley and I were being attacked by two dementors, in an alley a few blocks from my house. My cousin is the Muggle in question, and he knows I am a wizard."

A undertone of comments were running through the gallery at Harry's statement. "Dementors?" Amelia Bones said, looking quite surprised. "What were dementors doing in Little Whinging?"

"I don't know why they were there," Harry shrugged. "But they went for me and my cousin."

"Ah, yes," Fudge sneered, smirking unpleasantly. "I expected we'd hear something like this. Dementors make a very nice cover story, don't they, Potter? Muggles can't see them, can they? So your cousin has no idea what really happened, does he? At best, he can only repeat what _you_ saw, which would be hearsay evidence."

"So you want corroboration, do you?" Harry asked, plaintively.

"It is a highly unlikely situation," Amelia Bones said, skeptically. "An independent witness would be a great boost to your defense, Potter."

"Good," Harry nodded. "I happen to have one."

"Your cousin's testimony is not admissible, Mr. Potter!" Fudge said imperiously. "He is incapable of seeing dementors and thus, incapable of giving independent testimony."

"I don't mean my cousin," Harry said. He stood, walking to an open space next to the chair. "There was someone else there that night." Taking out his wand, Harry drew a gleaming silver circle in the air above his head, parallel to the floor, about three feet in diameter. Stepping out from under it, he made a downward gesture with his wand, and curtains suddenly appeared, hanging on rings running around the circle, creating a small enclosure. Harry was doing this mostly for show; he could have summoned his witness in a second, but he was having some fun with the Wizengamot. He jabbed his wand at the curtain.

"_Hookus_, _pookus_, _alakazookus_," he intoned, misdirecting their attention with the nonsense words he was saying, as he imagined who he wanted to appear inside the curtains. There was a flash of light at the top and bottom of the curtains, and a sudden screech of surprise and embarrassment emanated from them.

The entire courtroom was on its feet as everyone tried to understand what had happened. "What is the meaning of this, you wretched boy!" Umbridge, the undersecretary, snarled at him, but Harry ignored her, leaning close to the curtain to speak to the person who'd appeared inside.

"Mrs. Figg," he said quietly. "It's Harry Potter. You've just been brought to the Ministry of Magic to speak as a witness about the night you saw the dementors.

"What in the world, Harry —!" Mrs. Figg sounded very upset. "Dumbledore told me I might be called, but the hearing isn't for another hour, almost! I'm in the middle of a bloody _shower_ here, boy!"

"Sorry about that," Harry muttered. "The hearing was moved up. "Dumbledore's not here yet — he may not even know about the change."

Fudge had recovered and was now banging a gavel loudly on the bench before him. "See here, Potter! What do you mean by disrupting these proceedings like this! We haven't got time for these foolish tricks of yours!"

"Oh, I think you do," Harry corrected him. "Under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses in his or her case. Isn't that correct, Madam Bones?" he said, directly to her.

"It is," she nodded. "Quite correct!"

"Very well, very well," Fudge said, clearly irritated by Bones' response. "Get on with it, then!"

Harry smiled and turned back to the curtain. "Mrs. Figg?" A small section of the curtains parted and her face poked through, her hair now covered with a shower cap rather than a hairnet.

"H-harry?" she squeaked, her teeth chattering. "It's v-very c-cold in here, a-and I'm all w-wet…"

"Sorry," Harry said. He imagined her wearing a warm bathrobe. "Is that better?"

"Y-yes, thank y-you," she said, looking around apprehensively at the members of the Wizengamot. "N-now why are we here again?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Fudge said, exasperated. "Will you tell us your full name, please?!"

Mrs. Figg blinked at him, but after a moment, said, "It's Arabella Doreen Figg," in a quivery voice.

"And just who, exactly, are you?" Fudge asked, his tone condescending.

"I live in L-little Whinging, a few blocks from Harry Potter."

"We have no record of that," Madam Bones said at once. "And we've kept _very_ good records, given past events concerning Mr. Potter."

Mrs. Figg explained that she was a Squib, which Fudge promised to check on, then asked her to provide her story. Harry listened as she described her part in the events of August second, including the night becoming preternaturally dark and cold, and accurately described the sensation of despair and fear that came over people in the presence of dementors. Even looking faintly ridiculous as she did, speaking from behind a curtain floating in the middle of the courtroom, Harry sensed many of the fair-minded members of the Wizengamot believed her story. Fudge finally dismissed her, and Harry pulled the curtains around her face closed, whispered, "Thank you for coming, Mrs. Figg," and she disappeared in a flash of white light. The curtain disappeared, and Harry seated himself in the chair in the center of the chamber once again.

"Not a very convincing witness," Fudge said, sounding lofty, trying to assess some damage control to his case.

"Oh, I don't know," Madam Bones disagreed, in her booming voice. "She described the effects of a dementor attack quite accurately, I believe." There were murmurs of agreement among the other members, though Harry saw a few, the Umbridge woman and Percy among them, who appeared unconvinced.

Fudge snorted. Seeing that he was losing support for the underage magic charge, the Minister decided to switch to the next one. "Potter!" he barked. "Do you deny attacking Lucius Malfoy in his home in Wiltshire on the evening of August second, and battering him unconscious?"

"No, I don't deny that," Harry responded at once.

"You are of course aware," Fudge went on, now regaining his stride, "that Article II of the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, which _you_ mentioned earlier, by the way, guarantees every witch and wizard the right to be safe and secure within their own homes. Meaning, then, that your attack on him was unprovoked, and therefore illegal!"

"As long as they are in violation of no wizarding laws," Harry went on, referring to the rest of the Article Fudge had cited. "Lucius Malfoy was clearly in violation of the law prohibiting aiding or abetting the activities of any wizard engaged in the practice of Dark magic."

"That — is — a — lie!" Umbridge, the toad-faced witch sitting next to Fudge shouted, leaping to her feet. Which, Harry noticed, in her case hardly made a difference — she had gained almost no height by standing. "Potter is merely piling one fantasy on top of another, trying to besmirch the Malfoy name with his baseless accusations!"

"A lie?" Harry sneered at her. "How are you going to make a lie out of Voldemort's head, held by the Ministry's top Auror?" He pointed to Rufus Scrimgeour, who held up a box, then passed it over to Fudge, who placed it on the bench in front of himself.

"Ah, yes," Fudge said, smirking once again, though Harry saw uncertainty in his eyes. "The so-called 'evidence' Dumbledore spoke of with me, the day after you attacked Lucius and destroyed his home." He looked at Scrimgeour. "So far I've had no word of confirmation from your office on this piece of 'evidence,' Rufus."

"So far," Scrimgeour replied, his tone most serious, "we have been unable to confirm or refute the claim of its origin. There are magical traces of a Dark ritual consistent with the story originally given by Mr. Potter, in the investigation into the death of Mr. Cedric Diggory. The evidence is also consistent with other Dark magic which would have given a wizard the pale, snake-like appearance shown by the object in question."

"Have you checked for traces of my blood?" Harry asked. But Fudge seemed not to be listening; he had reached into the box and taken up the head in his hands. He seemed to be staring into its eyes. "You'll find traces of my blood in there," Harry went on, not caring that Fudge seemed not to be listening. "Voldemort had Wormtail — Peter Pettigrew — take some of my blood to use in the spell to return him fully to life."

Fudge seemed to finally hear him, but his reaction was entirely unexpected. "You think _this_ proves anything, boy?" he snarled, holding up the head in one hand, for the entire courtroom to see. There were gasps of surprise and consternation among the members. "Theatrics!" Fudge spat. "Cheap parlor tricks! We'll have none of that in this courtroom!"

But then, directly contradicting what he'd just said, Fudge heaved the head at Harry. It sailed across the distance toward him, and Harry put up a hand as if to catch it. But before it reached him the head slowed to a stop, floating in the air before him, then dropped to the floor of the courtroom.

"This is outrageous!" Madam Bones sputtered. She was on her feet, pointing toward Fudge as if she could hardly conceive what he had just done. "You violate the basic rights of the accused —"

"You heard what _your own man_, Scrimgeour, had to say!" Fudge snarled in reply. "There's no proof that's You-Know-Who's head!"

"There's no proof that it's _not_!" Bones objected. "You can't just convict someone without following the evidence to its reasonable conclusion!"

"I cannot believe I'm hearing such disloyalty from the mouth of a high-ranking Ministry official!" Umbridge said vehemently.

A/N: From here on is the revised material.

"I can't believe we're going through all this just because the Minister can't admit he was wrong about Voldemort," Harry said, loudly. There was a collective gasp at the mention of the Name, and Fudge rounded angrily back on Harry.

"You're out of order, Potter!" he sputtered, pointing a shaking finger at Harry.

"No, _you_ are," Harry insisted. He gestured and Voldemort's head rose into the air until it was level with Fudge's chest, then floated toward him. As it came close to Fudge he reached out, grasping it, then glared at Harry over the Dark Lord's hairless pate. "I described the spell that Peter Pettigrew used to bring Voldemort back, described what he did with my blood and his right hand.

"If you haven't ordered the Aurors to determine whether any of my blood or Pettigrew's flesh is part of that head," Harry continued implacably, and the courtroom became utterly quiet as all of its members listened carefully to him, "then you've been derelict in your duty as new Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot. And if you _have_ ordered that, but are holding back the results back, then you are obstructing justice. So which is it, Minister Fudge?"

Fudge didn't answer. His eyes were not on Harry, but on the head he held in his hands. The silence extended almost unbearably as Fudge continued to stare at Voldemort, but just when Harry thought Amelia Bones would speak for him, Fudge looked up.

"Auror Scrimgeour," Fudge said quietly, without looking around, "will you give us the result of the blood magic detection spells, please?"

"Yes, sir," Scrimgeour nodded, then reached into his robes and produced a parchment scroll. He cleared his throat noisily, then read, "Results of Blood Type Revealment Spell on remains of Joe Muggs —" Harry made a small snort of contempt at the use of the generic name applied to an unknown Muggle "— performed on 8 August 1995, displayed properties consistent with those found in the blood of sample provided by Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, on —"

"That's enough," Fudge waved off the rest. He glared balefully at Harry, who stared back impassively, wondering how much of a tirade they were all going to be treated to, now that Fudge had pretty much put the final nail in the coffin of his case.

But, surprisingly, Fudge didn't explode or rant at him. Instead, he looked down at Harry from the front bench, quite emotionless now, and asked, in a tightly controlled voice, "Do you have any further evidence to produce for us, Mr. Potter?"

"No," Harry shook his head, now watching Fudge with frank curiosity.

"Very well," Fudge said. He looked about the room, then gave a small nod to Amelia Bones. She nodded as well, and the room fell into dozens of urgent, whispered conversations. Harry considered tapping into all of these conversations, to see whether the majority of the Wizengamot would vote for him or not, but then shrugged to himself. Even if they found him guilty and snapped his wand on the spot, he could imagine it whole again in a second, or simply do without it.

Fudge himself, who had carefully replaced Voldemort's head back into the box Scrimgeour had been holding, and was sitting, motionless, as the whispered conversations of the members of the Wizengamot gradually began to subside. When they had become nearly silent, Madam Bones's booming voice rang out. "All those in favor of clearing Harry James Potter of all charges?"

Hands went into the air all around the courtroom. Well over half, Harry saw with a smile. Fudge hadn't moved, nor had Umbridge, the toad-like witch on Fudge's right. She was still looking closely at him, studying him appraisingly, Harry noticed. Fudge himself was still staring into the box containing Voldemort's head. Staring rather longingly, Harry suddenly realized, wondering…

He adjusted his eyes so they could see through solid material, then looked through the fabric on Fudge's right arm, wondering what he might find there. It would be the wildest chance if Fudge was a Death Eater —! But there was no Dark Mark on his forearm.

"All those in favor of conviction," Madam Bones said. Fudge, Umbridge, a witch and wizard in the row behind them, and perhaps a half-dozen others. Harry suppressed a grin. Fudge looked around, seeing how far short he'd fallen, then took a deep breath, and another, then said in a flat, emotionless voice, "Very well...cleared of all charges."

"Good," Harry said, getting to his feet. He showed a stony face to Percy, who lowered his eyes, then turned and strode from the room. Outside the room he found a very pale Mr. Weasley, who looked at him apprehensively.

"Harry! What did they —"

"Cleared," Harry said, curtly, and Mr. Weasley broke into a brilliant smile and clasped him by the shoulders.

"Wonderful, Harry! Just wonderful!" he said, beaming at him. "I knew they couldn't have found otherwise, just as Remus and Sirius said! Still, I admit I was rather —"

He broke off, because the courtroom door opened as the members of the Wizengamot began filing out. Harry stood, watching them as they walked past, seeing how many of them dared meet his eyes. Several of them did, a few of them actually nodding to him as they passed, and one or two saying "Hello, Arthur," to Mr. Weasley, including Madam Bones.

The majority of the court, however, either paid them no mind as they walked past, or they carefully averted their eyes. Percy, Mr. Weasley's son, walked past, and he and his father may as well have been on opposite sides of the world as far as how much attention they paid one another, Harry noticed.

The last two people to leave the court were Fudge, still carrying the box containing Voldemort's head, and Umbridge; Fudge walked past as if Harry and Arthur were both invisible, but Umbridge kept her beady little eyes on Harry even after they'd walked on down the corridor, looking back at him until Harry grinned at her and gave a wink.

Mr. Weasley, noticing the exchange, looked at Harry uncertainly again. "Harry," he said slowly, after Fudge and Umbridge were out of earshot, "you didn't — er, that is, well, use any of that S-Star Brand power on anyone, did you?"

"Nope," Harry said, lightly. "At least, not on anyone but myself."

"To do, uh, what, exactly?"

"I just gave myself an instant education in Wizarding law," Harry said, airily, as they started down the corridor themselves, toward the stairs leading to the ninth level.

"Ah," Mr. Weasley said, though it was clear he didn't understand what Harry was saying. "Well," he continued, as they started up the stairs, "I'll get you straight back so you can tell the others the good news. Then I have an appointment to take care of a regurgitating toilet, in Bethnal Green…"

On the way up the stairs, Mr. Weasley launched into a discussion of the finer points of anti-jinxing a toilet, but his words died in his throat as they reached the ninth floor for there, just a few feet beyond the doorway, stood Cornelius Fudge, still holding the box and talking to a tall, blond-haired man with pointed, pale features. Harry smirked at them, not intimidated in the least, though Arthur's hand had clasped on his shoulder, as if in warning.

Malfoy turned at the sound of their footsteps. "Well, well, Mr. Potter, our Patronus-maker," he said in a cool, drawling voice. "The Minister was just telling me about you were cleared of all charges against you. Including the destruction of my manor, it seems. Quite astonishing how you always wriggle free of such predicaments… _snakelike_, in fact." Mr. Weasley's hand gripped even harder.

"And you're looking better than the last time I saw you, Mr. Malfoy," Harry replied in turn. "I see there are hardly any marks left of that door on your face," he smiled broadly.

"Indeed," Malfoy said, one hand moving unconsciously along the side of his face. "The Healers were quite…skilled."

"And well-paid, too, I hope?" Harry added, with a mocking grin.

Malfoy took a deep breath, suppressing a growl of rage, then looked up at Mr. Weasley, as if only just then seeing him. "And Arthur Weasley, too! Imagine seeing _you_ here."

"I work here," Mr. Weasley said shortly.

"Here?" Malfoy said disbelievingly, pointing to the door they'd just come from with his cane. "Surely not _here_, Arthur!"

"You know where I work, Malfoy," Mr. Weasley replied, caustically.

"Indeed I do." Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you'd better get to your work, then. The Minister and I have some private matters to discuss." He looked at Fudge. "Shall we, Minister?"

"Yes," Fudge said, and turned his back on Harry and Mr. Weasley, leading the way for them. "This way, Lucius." Mr. Weasley's hand maintained its grip on Harry's shoulder until they disappeared into the lift.

"I wonder what kind of 'private matters' those two have together?" Harry muttered, sarcastically, after they disappeared. They began walking toward the lift themselves. "Probably gold — I could tell Malfoy was carrying a good deal of it inside his robes."

"Probably," Mr. Weasley agreed, stonily. "Unfortunately, that's between the Minister and Malfoy." He pressed the button for the lift.

"Is it a good idea," Harry wondered aloud, "that Fudge and Malfoy, a Death Eater —" Mr. Weasley glanced around quickly as Harry said this, seeing if anyone was nearby to hear "— are meeting in private? What if they've put the Imperius Curse on him?"

"We've thought of that very thing, Harry," Mr. Weasley muttered, as the lift arrived and they stepped inside. It was empty except for a flock of memos, that fluttered about at the top of the lift. "But Dumbledore thinks Fudge is acting of his own accord. A bit depressing, that, actually." As they approached the Atrium level Mr. Weasley said, softly, "Best not to talk about it anymore just now, Harry."

They entered the almost-empty Atrium, but as they passed the Security desk Eric, the security wizard looked up from his _Daily Prophet_. "Mr. Weasley, sir, this note came for you a while ago," he said, holding out a scrap of parchment. Mr. Weasley took it and scanned it briefly. "Thank you, Eric," he said to the security man, nodding and he and Harry continued across the Atrium.

"We need to take a small detour, if you don't mind," Mr. Weasley told Harry, stuffing the parchment scrap into his robe. "Molly and Ginny are picking up some things at the Burrow to bring back to Grimmauld Place, and Molly wants me to stop by and give a hand. We can use an extra pair of hands — that is, if you don't mind, Harry."

"Sure," Harry nodded, happy that things worked out his way for once. He was sure to hear a lot of gushing from Mrs. Weasley about his being cleared by the Wizengamot, but it would be nice to tell Ginny; she could pass the information on to Fred, George, and her other brothers, while Harry talked to Hermione and Ron.

They had no sooner stepped out of the old, red phone booth onto the streets of London than Harry took Mr. Weasley's arm, and they disappeared in a flash of light, reappearing a moment later at the back door of the Burrow. Mr. Weasley opened the door, gesturing Harry into the Burrow's kitchen, where Molly Weasley was bustling about, collecting items from cupboards. She turned, and seeing them, got an apprehensive look on her face. "Oh! Arthur! And Harry! How did things go at the Ministry —?"

"Fine, dear," Arthur said, smiling. "Harry got off."

"Ah! That's wonderful, dear!" Molly exclaimed, grabbing Harry in a hug, which he endured, smiling as she turned away, embarrassed by the show she was making. "Ginny's up in her room," she said, beaming at him as she went back to rummaging through the kitchen drawers. "I'm sure she'll want to hear all about it as well!"

Harry nodded and started up the stairs to Ginny's room, one floor up from the ground. As he reached the first floor landing he could hear her moving around in her room. Her door was slightly ajar, but Harry rapped lightly on it, to let her know he was there, and the door swung open from the force of his knocking. Ginny looked around, seeing him there.

"Oh hi, Harry," she said, smiling, "Come on in! All right —" she stopped suddenly, as if just remembering where he'd been. "How did it go?" she asked, in a more subdued voice, a slightly worried expression on her face.

"Fine," he nodded, smiling. "I got off."

"Brilliant!" she beamed, pulling him into what was for Harry a completely unexpected, but not unwelcome, hug. She stepped back a few moments later, blushing furiously, and said, "Sorry — I forgot, you sort of fancy Cho Chang, don't you?"

"It's okay," Harry said quickly. He'd known for years that Ginny had a crush on him, since the first day he'd been at the Burrow, when she came downstairs for breakfast, saw him sitting there, and bolted back upstairs. At the time he hadn't known how she felt. Once he did, though, it had seemed "wrong" somehow, since Ron was his best mate, to want to kiss his sister. Cho Chang had caught his interest, and she seemed to fancy him, too, except that her boyfriend, Cedric Diggory had complicated matters — at least, until he died when Voldemort returned.

But now, Harry realized, Cho would probably be grieving Cedric's loss, and he'd have to allow her time to mourn her loss — and Ginny was here…

"Where are my manners?" Ginny said suddenly, bumping her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Would you like some tea, Harry?"

Harry realized he hadn't eaten or drank anything since breakfast, and he'd had only a few slices of toast and some pumpkin juice. "That would be great, thanks!" he nodded, and Ginny hurried off downstairs to get some. While she was gone he looked around the room. It looked much more cluttered than he would have expected; it must've driven Hermione barmy to be in here with Ginny, if this was how it looked most of the time.

Ginny, returning with a tea tray holding two cups of hot liquid, saw him looking about. "Sorry about the mess," she said, handing him a cup. "I've been looking for my — um, for some things," she finished.

"Oh, go on, tell me," Harry said, smiling, and he took a sip of the warm, brown liquid, thinking of the scent of flowers and, oddly, a broomstick handle as he did. "What were you looking for?"

"Well," she said, smiling shyly, "It's something of yours, actually, Harry. "I found one of your T-shirts in the wash Mum was doing when you were here, a few summers ago, and I, um, nicked it…"

"You nicked one of my T-shirts?" Harry said, a foolish grin spreading across his face. "That's, um, kind of…"

"Pathetic, right?" Ginny said ruefully.

"Oh, no," Harry said emphatically. "It's rather amazing, actually." He was beginning to see Ginny in an entirely new light. Why had he never noticed before how wonderful she was, how interesting — and how beautiful she had become!

"To think, all these years you've been waiting for me," he said breathlessly, reaching out to stroke her cheek tenderly. "And I've never noticed until now."

She smiled blissfully at him. "I knew you'd finally come round, Harry Potter. I've longed to share my life, my love, with you!"

He caught hold of her, reveling in her nearness, the scent of her flowing red hair, the brightness of her sparkling brown eyes. "We will share everything, Ginny, I promise!" he said, urgently. He had never felt as happy as he did at this moment, almost giddy with Ginny's eyes smiling into his, the feel of their hearts beating close together.

"Even — this?" Ginny said, taking his right hand from her hip and holding it between them, showing Harry the Star Brand on his palm.

"Yes," Harry nodded, imagining them both with the Star Brand, able to go anywhere and do anything they wanted. "It will be wonderful, having someone to share this with, Ginny! You'll know what it means to be able to do _anything_ you want!"

"It sounds scary," she said, doubtfully, looking at the symbol in Harry's palm, tracing it with a delicate fingertip, sending shivers up Harry's arm and along his spine. "Do you think I'll be able to handle it, Harry?"

"Of course you will," Harry cooed, smiling sweetly at her. "You're a very bright girl, you'll get the hang of it immediately! Especially since you know what to expect from it — I can teach you."

"You will?" Ginny smiled brilliantly at him. "I'd really like that, Harry. But…" she hesitated a moment. "Will you — will you let me try it on for a bit?"

"You want to try it out first," Harry grinned at her. "Sure — hold up your hand, then," and he held out his palm for her to touch.

But Ginny shook her head. "No, I want you to touch me somewhere else, Harry," she said, smiling wickedly at him. She reached up with her left hand and tugged at the top of her blouse, exposing her shoulder and the top of her left breast. "Will you put it here?" she pointed to the curve of her boob. Harry gaped at the bit of pink flesh she'd revealed to him.

"Um, sure," he said, though his hand had begun to shake at the thought of touching her there, with her parents only a short distance away. "I guess I can do that…"

"Don't worry," she said, with a throaty giggle. "It's not going to hurt…" She reached out and took his right hand gently in hers. "Why don't you close your eyes," she said, playfully, "and I'll guide you?"

Harry looked, his eyes full of longing, into hers, full of promise, and nodded convulsively, then closed his eyes tightly. He felt her lead him several steps, closer to the bed, it seemed to him, then heard her say, "Ready, then, Harry? One… two… three… _now_!"

His hand pressed against cool smoothness, and Harry willed the Star Brand to transfer. There was a tingling warmth, then nothing, as it disappeared from his body. Harry opened his eyes, expecting to find Ginny smiling at him, the Star Brand on her breast, but the smooth coolness under his hand was not her, but a pale, white head.

A head that now had the eight-pointed star and crescent of the Star Brand etched upon it.

Voldemort's head. _No_! Harry thought wildly. _Connell said never to transfer the Brand to an inanimate object, or something terrible would occur_! He took a step back, expecting the worst, whatever that might be, and saw that Ginny was holding the head in front of her, against her chest. He pulled his hand from hers and reached for the head, jamming his other hand into the pocket where his wand was, wondering if he could try to Apparate away with it before whatever happened.

But Ginny spun to one side, blocking him with her hip, and pushed him away with her right hand. Harry, overbalanced, fell over backwards onto the floor as she leaped onto her bed. Whipping her wand out of a back pocket, she pointed it at Harry.

"_Enough_," a high, cold voice said, one that chilled Harry to his very bones. Ginny stopped, her wand still pointed at Harry; her face was blank, devoid of emotion. Voldemort's head, in her right hand, was pointed directly toward him, and as he stared he saw it smile maliciously at him, then speak.

"So, Potter, did you really believe yourself victorious over me? It is not so simple to kill the Dark Lord, as I trust you now know."

"Ginny," Harry whispered, "what —"

"She will not answer you," Voldemort's head said, "She is under my control, as I shall demonstrate. Bind him!"

"_Incarcerous_!" Ginny shouted, and ropes shot from the end of her wand, winding around Harry and binding him, forcing his arms against his sides and his legs and feet together, until he barely able to move.

"Place him on the bed," Voldemort's head said, and Ginny jumped to the floor, pointing her wand at him again and saying, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" Harry floated into the air and over her bed, then flopped onto it as she released him.

Sense was finally beginning to filter back into Harry's head, so before she could Body-Bind him or cast some other charm to silence him, Harry shouted, "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley — _HELP_!! Ginny's got —" He cut himself off. If something bad was going to happen, should have by now, Harry suddenly decided. It hadn't, though the fact that Voldemort's dismembered head was actually _speaking_ was bad enough already!

The head was now smiling coldly at him from its vantage point, perched in Ginny's hand. "Figured it out yet, Potter?"

"Figured _what_ out?" Harry asked, as the cobwebs continued to vanish from his brain.

"I wasn't sure if it would work," Voldemort's head said, candidly. "Amortentia is, after all, the most powerful love potion one can brew, but I wasn't sure whether it would affect you or not, Potter."

Amortentia! Harry gasped. So that was what had happened to make him feel so close to Ginny! He had been so caught up in his feelings that he hadn't questioned _why_ she'd seemed so interested in him! A few moments ago he'd been madly in love with Ginny Weasley. Now — now the only thing he could think of was that Voldemort lived once again, and that he had the Star Brand!

"But it seems it could," Voldemort went on. "Proving what I've always believed about Muggle-lovers like you, and Dumbledore."

"What do you believe?" Harry wheezed at him, beginning to feel smothered by the ropes that were binding him.

The head smiled evilly. "That's he's weak, just as you are. Just as this foolish girl and her father and mother were, when they were each called in to talk to Cornelius Fudge, a week ago. Dumbledore thought the Minister was acting on his own accord, and so he was — until he began examining my head by himself, trying to discover whether it was that of Lord Voldemort or not."

Harry could hear the sound of footfalls coming up the stairs — several pairs of feet, from the sound of them, as Voldemort continued. "He found that it was indeed the head of Lord Voldemort," he continued. "He also discovered that the more attention he gave to me, the stronger I became, until I was able to possess him without his knowledge for periods of time, just as I —" Voldemort stopped, smiling. "But then, it would be foolish of me, even now, to tell you the secret behind my diary.

"With the Minister possessed, I was able to force him to perform the Imperius Curse, first on Arthur Weasley, then on his wife." At that moment Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stepped through the doorway, into Ginny's room, and Harry saw with a moan of despair that they both had blank stares on their faces, just as Ginny did. A third person stepped into the room behind them, smiling in smug satisfaction, and Harry's eyes narrowed in anger as he saw it was Lucius Malfoy.

"My lord," Malfoy said, his tone respectful as the head turned in Ginny's hand to look at him. "I am pleased to see your plan worked."

"I'm sure you are, Lucius," Voldemort said, dryly. "As yours was a dismal failure."

Even bound so he was nearly motionless, Harry could see the look of fear that passed across Malfoy's face. "My lord!" Malfoy protested. "I was trying to find a way to revive you! I thought if the Chamber of Secrets was opened —"

"You thought it would close the school, Lucius, nothing more," Voldemort said, coldly. "So you could send your son Draco to Durmstrang, for what you considered was a proper education, even though you were on the board of governors of Hogwarts. You never realized — but never mind," the head said abruptly. "It doesn't matter, as long as you do not fail me again."

"No, my lord," Malfoy said, bowing, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley bowed to the head as well, raising the hackles on the back of Harry's neck.

"Now, let me see," Voldemort said, rising out of Ginny's grasp. She walked over to stand in front of her parents, as the head floated next to her bed, while Harry watched. "I believe now that I am prepared to do — this!"

A white mist began to flow from beneath the head, flowing downward from the neck and quickly coalescing into human form. A black robe formed over the body, which had become solid flesh. Within seconds, Lord Voldemort lived again.

"No!" Harry shouted, and the ropes binding him suddenly snapped apart as he began to struggle. Believing he had broken Ginny's spell, Harry sprang instinctively toward the tall, thin figure, pressing his hand against the symbol on his forehead, willing it to return to him.

But Voldemort, smiling cruelly, simply reached up and prised Harry's hand off of the Star Brand, lifting him away. Harry reacted instantly, swinging with his other fist as hard as he could toward Voldemort's face. There was a tremendous CRACK as knuckles contacted chin.

Voldemort's head jerked a bit to the side, then looked at Harry again, smiling.

"Nice punch, Potter," he said. "But useless against the power this symbol possesses. Now —" he swung his hand around "— let's see if you can take it," and backhanded Harry across the face.

The force of the blow drove Harry downward, through the floor of Ginny's room and into the kitchen below, shattering the kitchen table and the floor beneath it. As Harry lay sprawled in the wreckage of the kitchen, Voldemort dropped through the hole and floated downward, landing with one foot on Harry's chest.

"It appears you have some residuum of this power within you," Voldemort said, looking down on him. "Though it cannot match what I now possess." He reached down, pulling Harry free of the debris and held him at arm's length. "It would not do to waste a valuable resource such as yourself, Harry — I'm sure I can find something useful for you to do in my new goal of world conquest. You may join your friends, the Weasleys. _Imperio_!"

Voldemort released him and Harry stood swaying, his face taking on a blank look, like Ginny and her parents. But he began to blink, to shake his head, and his entire body began to shiver.

"Join them!" Voldemort commanded again, pointing to the door of the kitchen, where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had appeared, with Ginny between them, and Lucius Malfoy following behind. "_Imperio_!" he said again.

"_No_," Harry breathed, through gritted teeth. "I WON'T!" Just as he did before, when Voldemort had tried to curse him in the graveyard in Little Hangleton.

"Strange," Voldemort said, ending his effort to bring Harry under his influence. "Even with this all-powerful symbol at my command, I cannot break your will, Potter. That is…inconceivable…to me.

"However," he shrugged, "the solution, though less than optimal for my plans for this world, is still workable." Harry, trying to move, found himself as motionless as if Voldemort had cast a Body-Bind curse upon him, backed by the power of the Star Brand.

"The Weasley clan will soon be under my control," Voldemort told Harry, as he vainly struggled against the power holding him motionless. "I will put them work undermining that old fool running that outdated haven of Muggle-lovers and blood traitors, and with the father helping Fudge at the Ministry, I will soon have new followers, ones who will take my control to an entirely new level.

"Of course, Harry," Voldemort chuckled, seeing the loathing in his eyes, "none of this will matter to you. Get out of here," he said, turning to Malfoy and the Weasleys. "Soon this house will be no more." They turned and ran out through the front door, and Voldemort turned back to Harry.

"Did you know that beheading was a noble's death, in medieval times?" he said, looking malevolently at Harry. "Whereas burning was reserved for heretics and witches? Therefore, I grant you the death you are deserving of, Harry Potter!"

Voldemort gestured toward him, and cursed fire enveloped Harry, burning every inch of his skin. The pain was every bit as bad as the Cruciatus Curse, though Harry was denied even the release of screaming. The fire consumed him down to his bones, and Harry toppled over. His last coherent thought was to wish he could warn Dumbledore of the danger the school was in — and that he should have said goodbye to Hermione, before oblivion claimed him.


	4. A Dismal Term

The Potter Brand

Chapter 4

"A Dismal Term"

Albus Dumbledore walked slowly through the remains of the Burrow, surveying the damage. There was very little left of the home; what few stones of the structure that remained upright were covered with blackened ash. Of the wood and other flammable parts of the house, there was nothing — it was obviously the work of cursed fire, fire that could burn even stone and metal to ash, given enough time.

Somewhere at the Ministry, Dumbledore knew, an alarm had gone off as a ward at the Burrow had detected magical fire. Ministry workers had Flooed to the nearest fireplace not involved in the fire — fortunately, only a few miles away, at the home of Xenophilius Lovegood — then Apparated to the Burrow. Even so, in the few minutes it had taken to arrive, the entire structure had been engulfed in the ravening, all-consuming fire. Dumbledore could sense the nature of it even as he made his way to the point of origin of the blaze: _Fiendfyre_.

The kitchen, the point of origin, was utterly nonexistent now. Nothing but ash was left of the four walls, though Dumbledore could reconstruct the layout of the room in his mind's eye. He could see where Molly Weasley's cooking pots and pans had been hung, from the puddles of melted metal lying about, see the bits of ash that had been her silverware, and knew from the arrangement of layers of dust on the hard ground how her cupboards had burned and fallen. The only unexpected thing about this scene, apart from the unusual and regrettable loss of the house itself, was the charred skeleton lying in the middle of it, in a cracked and blistered crater gouged in the floor by the fire and by some heavy impact.

"What do you make of all this, Dumbledore?" Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, asked as she followed him into the kitchen area. "How could Death Eaters have made it past the Ministry wards? Assuming it _was_ Death Eaters, of course," she added, looking around. "Although I could not imagine anyone else being so foolish as to unleash _Fiendfyre_ in a populated area, even one as sparse as Ottery St. Catchpole."

"I do not know, Madam Bones," Dumbledore said absently, leaning over to peer carefully at the charred skull on the floor next to him. The size of the skeleton was about right, he had gauged, though its very presence was something of an anomaly — most bodies exposed to _Fiendfyre_ were burned to ashes within seconds. Yet this body, somehow, had remained partly intact even at the origin of the blaze, perhaps had even been the primary target of the spell!

That fact had not escaped Madam Bones's attention, either. "Who do you think this unlucky soul is, Dumbledore, and how did his body escape complete destruction?"

"I believe," Dumbledore said, slowly, "it is the remains of Harry Potter."

"Indeed?" Bones said, now looking at the skeleton with renewed interest. "And he was just this morning cleared of all charges against him! That is highly suspect. I should think we would want to question Lucius Malfoy concerning this incident."

Dumbledore nodded acquiescingly, but said, "I'm sure Lucius will have a very good alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the alarm, however. He is most careful about covering his tracks."

Bones looked unconvinced; her monocle flashed as she looked up, sharply, at the headmaster. "Perhaps. But I'm sure we can at least shake him up a bit, if nothing else. Rattle his cage a bit."

"It will also be useful to have Cornelius produce the severed head once again," Dumbledore suggested.

"For what purpose?" Bones asked, puzzled. "It is only a head." She grimaced. "A particularly nasty-looking one, if you ask me."

"Nevertheless," Dumbledore replied. "I must insist that you at least make the attempt to find it, Amelia — it is evidence."

"The case has been cleared," Bones pointed out. "If You-Know-Who returned from wherever he disappeared to in 1981, he's dead now. As is, unfortunately, Harry Potter," she finished, looking at the skeleton.

"True," Dumbledore agreed. "Death is final." Bones nodded solemnly then turned to talk with an Auror who was investigating the scene, and the headmaster's gaze turned from Bones, to the remains of Harry Potter. Kneeling down next to the skeleton, Dumbledore placed his hand carefully over the skull, finding the feel of _Fiendfyre_ there as well. His sigh was one of relief: At least Harry's body need not suffer further indignity to remove the fragment of Voldemort's soul Dumbledore believed had been lodged there for these past fourteen years. There was only one thing left for Albus Dumbledore to do for the boy, now…

Finished speaking with the Auror, Amelia Bones began to walk away, but hesitated. She turned, laying a hand on Dumbledore's shoulder. "Albus," she said, softly. "I — I am sorry the boy is dead. I know you've taken quite an interest in his life…"

"I hope I may be given permission to remove the body, for burial," Dumbledore replied, without looking at her. "I owe him that much."

"I'm sure it can be arranged," Bones replied. "Where will you bury him?"

"With his parents," Dumbledore said. "It seems only fitting — I do not believe Harry was ever able to visit their graves."

Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the room and, seeing the Magical Law Enforcement head, approached her. "Madam Bones," he said, respectfully. "You asked Head Auror Scrimgeour to keep you briefed on the Death Eater situation." His eyes flicked toward Dumbledore, a subtle reminder to the DMLE head that the information could be sensitive.

"Go ahead, Shacklebolt," Bones nodded. "Dumbledore knows to keep any sensitive information confidential."

"Yes, ma'am. We've set up watches on known and suspected Death Eaters, including those in Azkaban. Thus far, however, Contact Number One has eluded all our efforts to reacquire him." Contact Number One, Dumbledore knew, was Lucius Malfoy, designated as such since Bellatrix Lestrange had been incarcerated in Azkaban prison. He had not been seen since just after Harry's disciplinary meeting this morning, when he had spoken briefly with Cornelius Fudge.

"Have there been any overt activities by known or suspected Death Eaters recently?" Bones asked.

Shacklebolt shook his smooth head. "They have certainly been quiet about it, if they have," he said. "We can only keep watch on the primary ones, ma'am, as you know."

"Yes, yes," Bones said, irritably, in her booming voice. "Except for Malfoy, unfortunately, it seems."

"He was expected to rejoin his wife and son at the Red Dragon this morning, after his meeting with Fudge," Shacklebolt explained. The Red Dragon was a very high-quality hotel for wizards in the London Area. "We have our best new Auror trailing him, Nymphadora Tonks."

"Mmm," Bones pondered that name for a moment. "Ted Tonks's girl, isn't she? Just graduated from Auror Training this spring?"

"Yes, ma'am," Shacklebolt nodded.

"Good," Bones said. "I'm sure there's no love lost between her and the Malfoys. Just keep her from tripping over him." She nodded to him and Dumbledore, then turned and walked away.

"Yes, ma'am," Shacklebolt agreed, with a small smile. He nodded to Dumbledore, who smiled benignly in return, and went to continue his duties.

Alone now with Harry's body, Dumbledore took out his wand and conjured a coffin of white pine next to him on the floor of the Burrow's ruined kitchen, then pointed his wand at the remains. The body and all surrounding bits of ash lifted and floated into the box.

As the lid of the coffin slowly closed of its own accord, Dumbledore took a last look around the room. Whatever had happened here this morning, the headmaster could not help but feel a sense of foreboding. He had not attended the hearing this morning; Harry had seemed particularly irritated with him due to the measure he had taken after school dismissed, earlier in the summer, to keep Harry isolated and to observe his behavior now that Voldemort had regained his physical form.

Harry had shown increasingly aggressive and frustrated behavior during the month of July, leading Dumbledore to believe that he was feeling the effects of Voldemort's emotions much more keenly than previously, right up until he confronted him at Malfoy Manor and dispatched him. Since then, he had lapsed into a sullen depression, becoming uncommunicative with everyone except Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, and they only guardedly.

In his long, long life, now stretching back well past one hundred years, Dumbledore had learned to trust his instincts, and they were telling him now that something was wrong about all of this, Harry's death here, in the Weasley family's kitchen. He would have to be especially careful now, even with them, as there were too many coincidences to reasonably account for. Fudge had mentioned, when Dumbledore spoke to him earlier, that he and Lucius had a momentary conversation with Harry and Arthur Weasley near the staircase leading to level ten of the Ministry. In addition, while the box had been present in Fudge's office when Dumbledore questioned him, a subtly-cast spell had revealed that the head was no longer inside it.

But now, he thought, to the business at hand. Dumbledore conjured a stand beneath the coffin, so that it stood at an acceptable height for viewing. Of course, there would be no formal showing of Harry's body — there was nothing left to look at — but Dumbledore had attended many, many funerals in his long life. Far too many already, he thought, with a touch of moroseness, and old habits died hard. But this would be the hardest one to bear. Dumbledore tapped the coffin with his wand, and it glowed faintly blue for a moment, trembling. Putting his wand away, the headmaster laid his hand on the white wood, waiting for it to take them to where he must break the news of Harry's death.

***

"How long is that damned hearing going to last, anyway?" Ron grumbled, throwing a card down onto the pile, which didn't explode. He and his twin brothers Fred and George were playing a game of Exploding Snap in Ron's room. Hermione, who had decided not to play, was reading the fifth-year textbook on Transfiguration. "Harry's been gone almost all morning," Ron continued, unhappily. "Mum probably won't even make lunch until he gets back!"

"Aw, poor ickle Ronnikins," Fred drawled, thumbing through his cards absently. "Is he a bit peckish already this morning?"

"Shut it," Ron muttered, as Fred threw the dolt of cauldrons onto the pile. "I'm worried about Harry, is all."

"Don't worry, he's going to beat them," George said confidently, then tossed the dolt of cats onto the pile and yelled, "Snap!" while slapping his hand on top of it. Fred, who'd anticipated his twin's move, put his hands on top of George's, leaving Ron last.

"Dammit!" he complained, picking up the pile (except for the top card) and adding it to his handful. "What's wrong with these cards tonight? _None_ of them are exploding!" Part of the fun of Exploding Snap was that sometimes, when discarding, one or more of the cards in the pile would spontaneously explode, decreasing the number that would have to be picked up by the loser on a Snap, when two cards of the same rank were laid one on top of the other, as George had just done. Afterwards, the game would continue, with each player laying down a card until only one player held any cards; that person then lost the hand. Usually seventeen hands were played, and the person with the smallest card count at the end was the winner.

"Course he'll beat them," George added, as Ron tossed a card on top of the dolt of cats, to begin the pile again. "Dumbledore was going to show up, too, just before the hearing began, to argue the case for him." He tossed the queen of swords on top of the pile.

"He and I were talking about it last night," Hermione said, not looking up from her book. "The Ministry really doesn't stand a chance. They don't have a case, anyway. I can't believe the Wizengamot is letting Cornelius Fudge get away with what he's doing — it's really dodgy stuff."

"Fudge has been dodgier and dodgier for some time, now," Fred agreed, playing the oaf of wands. "It's pretty obvious he's after Harry — at least to _us_, of course, Harry's friends!" He looked over at Hermione, his expression troubled. "What I worry about is, who's on Fudge's side?"

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked, throwing the baron of hats on top of Fred's oaf.

Fred looked at George, who took up the conversation, leaning forward conspiratorially. Everyone in the game leaned toward him; even Hermione leaned forward some in her chair. "We've been hearing some things over the past week, ever since Harry turned everything upside down," George said, in a hushed voice. "Lucius Malfoy's been trying to get to Fudge — the Order thinks it's to influence him against Harry, but that bloke's been scarcer than a ghoul in a greenhouse."

"What's Fudge been up to, then?" Hermione asked, finally looking up from her book.

Fred shrugged. "Nobody knows. Malfoy greased a lot of palms trying to get to Fudge, according to the Order, but only ended up with a lighter purse."

"How'd _you_ hear all this?" Ron wanted to know, as he studied his handful of cards. "I thought Mum took all your Extendable Ears."

"_Most_ of them," Fred corrected, grinning. "We put back a few for a rainy day, and put an _Accio_-counterspell on them, so she couldn't clear them out. Plus, we acted pretty devastated when she found the other ones."

"We pretty much own those meetings now," George said matter-of-factly. "Between the Ears, and making Dung a gift, every so often, of one of Sirius's stash of firewhiskey bottles, for which he'll gladly tell us everything that went on. Course, he's not much use to anyone for a day or so afterwards."

Ron and Fred were laughing, but Hermione looked scandalized. "You shouldn't take advantage of him like that! What if he gets in trouble for telling something he shouldn't?"

"He knows he's an Order member, Hermione," Fred pointed out. "He doesn't tell us the really important stuff. At least, not yet," he added plaintively, looking at his twin. "But we're working on it."  
"It just sounds wrong, that's all," Hermione complained.

"Give it a rest, Hermione," Ron said, dismissively. "Dung knows what he's doing — well, most of the time, anyway." He dropped the baron of swords onto the pile then yelled, "Snap!" as he dropped his hand on top of the pile.

"AHA!" George shouted, slapping his hand on top of Ron's, leaving Fred in last place. But at that moment the cards decided not to cooperate with Ron once again, and exploded. And exploded again. And again! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! All of the cards under Ron and George's hands blew up, as they hastily pulled them out of the way.

When the bits of card confetti finally settled and disappeared (exploded cards reappeared, reformed, inside the box they came in) Ron was looking around disbelievingly. "Bloody hell," he muttered, looking at Fred and George. "I finally get one of you, and what happens? The bleedin' cards blow up!"

"We lead a charmed life, little brother," Fred smiled. "Perhaps someday you'll catch onto our broomtails and —" He stopped as the sound of footsteps were heard on the steps leading up to their floor.

"The cards weren't _that_ loud, were they?" Ron whispered. The footsteps reached the top of the stairs and there was a moment's pause before they began moving toward Ron's bedroom door. It seemed to take an unusually long time. By now everyone in the room, even Hermione, was staring at the door, waiting to see who was coming.

There was a soft tapping, as if someone was knocking. Ron looked around. Everyone seemed puzzled, as if someone knocking was the last thing they expected to hear. "Come in," Ron said, at last.

The knob turned and the door opened slowly into the room. It was Mrs. Weasley, back from the Burrow, where she and Ginny had gone to pick up a few items, earlier that morning. She was not smiling and looking very drawn and red-eyed, as if she'd been crying. She didn't say anything for several moments.

"Sorry about the cards, Mum," Ron offered, hoping that volunteering an apology would soften her a bit. She did not look happy at all, he thought.

But Molly shook her head. "Come downstairs, all of you," she said, her voice almost a whisper, she sounded so hoarse. "Professor Dumbledore's back."

George, who knew his mother's moods, asked, "Is something wrong, Mum? Is Harry back, too?"

After a few moments, her mother nodded, jerkily. "Y-yes," she said, her voice catching in something like a sob.

Ron glanced quickly at Hermione — her expression was filled with worry and concern at his mother's state, as was he. "Mum, what's up? What happened with Harry?"

"Just —" Molly closed her eyes, shaking her head. Her entire body seemed to be trembling, in fact. "Just come downstairs. Dumbledore will explain." Everyone stood immediately, following her down to the ground floor and into the dining room, where other members of the Order were gathered: Arthur Weasley was there, standing behind Ginny, whose hands were covering her face, as was the Weasley clan's oldest son, Bill; Harry's godfather, Sirius Black; Remus Lupin, their third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts professor; also with them was gray-haired, grizzled looking Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, who would have been their four-year Defense teacher, except he'd been kidnapped by Barty Crouch, Jr., a Death Eater who'd spent the entire fourth year impersonating him using Polyjuice Potion; Hagrid, of course, who was already red-eyed and puffy-faced, daubing at his eyes with a tablecloth-sized handkerchief; Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, two Aurors who had joined the Order; two older wizards, Elphias Doge and Dedalus Diggle; Sturgis Podmore, a square-jawed man with straw-colored hair; Emmaline Vance, a tall, stately witch with blonde hair; Hestia Jones, shorter, with black hair and pink cheeks; Mundungus Fletcher, ginger-haired, though less so than the Weasleys, and looking rather grubby in his tattered robes; and finally, Severus Snape, their Potions teacher, was present as well, his features sallow and unsmiling, as usual.

Albus Dumbledore was there, too, looking very unlike his normal cheerful self — he was somber and ashen-faced. "Ah, everyone is here," he said, seeing them file into the room behind Molly.

"I have some very bad news," he said, without preamble. "Harry Potter is dead."

Shock and despair filled the room. Hermione gasped and fell against Ron, who held her up, but only barely kept from collapsing himself; Ginny ran to her mother, burying her face in her mother's shoulder, sobbing. Fred and George stared at Dumbledore in shock. Neither one of them had the temerity to say, "Are you _joking_?!" — Dumbledore was obviously not. Some of the adults had already guessed the truth, but Hestia Jones cried out, "No!" and buried her face in Sturgis Podmore's chest, and Tonks turned to Remus, her eyes filled with tears. As were his. Everyone reacted visibly save for one person — Severus Snape, who at last bowed his head slowly, almost seeming to mock the others' emotions, as Sirius glowered at him.

"How — how did it happen, Professor?" Hermione finally stuttered, stepping away from Ron to face the headmaster. "Did the Ministry do it? How could they? Harry told us he couldn't — he couldn't…be…"

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "It was Lord Voldemort."

Shock ran through the group once again. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley glanced momentarily at one another. "But that's impossible!" Remus cried, looking at Dumbledore in disbelief. "He was dead! Stone, cold dead! I verified it myself! His bloody _head_ was cut off, for Merlin's sake!"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I know, Remus, I examined the head myself as well. Yet we found Harry's charred remains in the ruin of the Burrow. He had been burned, with _Fiendfyre_."

"Oh, no!" Molly gasped. "I was just there, with Ginny, picking up a few things! We must have just missed him!"

"If so, you were fortunate," Dumbledore said, gravely. "No one could have survived that fire, or the person or persons that caused it."

"But what about the protections?" Mr. Weasley said, sounding very agitated. "They should have prevented anyone unknown or unfriendly to us from entering!"

"They should have," Dumbledore agreed, calmly. "But I suspect that, for whatever reason brought Voldemort and Harry together there, the wards were not a problem for him."

"That still doesn't answer the question about Voldemort," Sirius said, more patiently than anyone expected. "How can he still be alive? I watched Remus and Snape examine the head, they both concurred it was him."

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you at this time, Sirius," Dumbledore told him, almost apologetically. "But I intend to find out."

"What — what about Harry?" Ginny asked, tearfully. "About his — body," she finally got out.

"There will be a showing here tomorrow, at one p.m.," Dumbledore said softly, his voice almost breaking. "I regret that only Order members, and those who know of this location, may attend. Afterwards we will place Harry beside his parents, in Godric's Hollow. That is all."

The Order members began dispersing, many leaving to go back to their own affairs. At a glance from Dumbledore, however, Sirius, Remus and Snape tarried in the dining room, as did Ron and Hermione, who noted they were not dismissed along with the other students, who had been escorted to the door by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione, still distraught by the news of Harry's death, did not immediately grasp the significance of the group that remained. "Are — are we going to discuss details of Harry's service?" she asked, sniffling.

"No," Dumbledore said, gently, shaking his head. "There is something we must discuss, in private." Taking a plate from the hutch standing nearby, he tapped it with his wand, saying "_Portus_." The plate glowed blue, trembling, and Dumbledore held it out so the others could touch it. Wordlessly, everyone touched a finger to the edge of the plate, joined at last by Ron and Hermione, who found themselves surprised to be included in the invitation. They each touched the plate, and a moment later were whisked away into a swirling vortex of wind and colors, landing moments later inside another room both of them recognized almost immediately after recovering from their landing. They were once again in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

"The six of us," Dumbledore began, again without preamble, "knew Harry best, in various ways. What Madam Bones told me of the events in Courtroom Ten has made me wonder if something had happened to him recently — something that may have affected his thinking."

"Well, You-Know-Who's return certainly did," Hermione spoke up, after a moment. "Harry was almost yelling at us when we first saw him, at the beginning of the month. He was upset that we hadn't written him to tell him what was going on."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "He was really mad about that, about as mad as I've ever seen him."

"Potter has always acted that way," Snape said dismissively. "You're just too blind to see him for what he is, unless his anger is directed towards _you_."

"That's not true," Hermione shook her head, looking directly at Snape. "Harry rarely got upset, unless it was something to do with how you were treating us!"

"It's of no consequence to me that Potter could dish it out, but couldn't take it," Snape sneered. "He's only made it this far because you've been carrying him and Weasley, helping with their assignments, being a regular Miss Know-It-All —"

"Severus, enough," Dumbledore cut him off. Snape bit back any further remarks he might have made, while Hermione glared at him. "We are not here to argue over Harry's academic record —"

"Why _are_ we here, then?" Sirius asked. "What could possibly be so secret, so important, that even Headquarters isn't safe enough to talk about it?"

Rather than reply immediately, however, Dumbledore walked around to his desk and sat down, taking out his wand and tapping a drawer, which popped open. The headmaster removed a small, black book, its pages ragged with age and misuse. There was a hole in the center of the cover.

"That's Tom Riddle's diary!" Ron said, before Hermione could open her mouth. "Harry saved Ginny from him, back in our second year!"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "Harry attempted to return the book that Lucius Malfoy, its owner before it made its way to Hogwarts, but he dropped it on his way out, I was told.

"This book," he said slowly, looking at them carefully, "was a Horcrux."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. They already know what they were, thanks to what Harry had told them earlier in the month.

"Ah," Lupin said knowingly.

"What's a Horcrux?" Sirius asked, interested.

"Something quite a few people here seem to know about," Snape said, his eyes narrowed. He'd seen the look that passed between the two students.

"It is very Dark, very evil magic," Dumbledore said. "A Horcrux is an object enchanted to hold a fragment of a wizard's soul. With that fragment thus anchored to the physical world, he cannot die."

"I remember reading of a Horcrux, once," Snape said. "But it did not describe what it was."

"The only such reference I left in the Library, when I became Headmaster," Dumbledore nodded. He looked toward Ron and Hermione. "But we have heard nothing from our youngest two visitors about this artifact."

"Harry told us what they were," Hermione said in reply. "He also told us that — that _Voldemort_ may have made more than one."

"More than _one_?" Lupin gasped. "How many more?"

"He may have divided his soul up to seven ways," Dumbledore told them. Lupin shook his head, horrified.

"What is it, Remus?" Sirius asked him. "Why does that matter?"

Remus looked at his old friend, his eyes haunted. "The only way to divide one's soul is to commit an act of supreme evil — to commit _murder_. Voldemort would have to have done that six times, at least, to divide his soul into seven parts. It seems logical, of course, as seven is the most powerful magical number."

"True," Dumbledore concurred. "But I believe that something happened on the night Voldemort murdered James and Lily, something that he didn't anticipate. When he attacked Harry with the Killing Curse, the magical protection his mother invoked sacrificing herself caused it to rebound on Voldemort, destroying his body and splitting his soul again. While the disembodied Voldemort fled the Potter home, that fragment attached itself to the only living body there, the infant Harry."

"So Harry was a Horcrux, too?!" Ron gasped.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "What is more, I now believe that the body Voldemort regained six weeks ago was a Horcrux as well."

"But what would he gain by such an action?" Lupin asked. "To tear his soul once again, if it was already a part of his body?"

"Actually, it was a brilliant idea," Dumbledore corrected him. "Especially given the other changes Voldemort made to his body to enhance its longevity."

"But how could we tell whether that was true, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"We are about to discover that for ourselves," Dumbledore said. Rising, he walked over to a black cabinet sitting near the great oaken door to his office, opened it and removed a large, stone basin, placing it on his desk.

"My Pensieve," he explained, for Ron and Hermione's sake. Both of them were looking, awestruck, at the swirling, silvery substance within the basin. Reaching inside his robes, Dumbledore withdrew a crystal vial that seemed to be filled with more of the same substance. Opening it, he poured the contents into the Pensieve.

"Madam Bones graciously provided me with her memories of the hearing," Dumbledore said. "And I have placed them within the Pensieve, where we may all view them." He looked around at the seven other people in the room. "Normally, to activate a memory, one touches their face to the liquid in the Pensieve, but with all of us here, that may become rather cramped. I believe our fingertips will suffice for this excursion." Everyone positioned themselves close to the Pensieve, and at Dumbledore's nod, they all dipped their fingertips into the swirling liquid.

Everyone felt themselves falling slowly into darkness, suddenly landing in various benches scattered throughout Courtroom Ten, among the members of the Wizengamot. They all watched as Harry entered the hall, saw his tentative beginning, the hostility evident from Fudge and several other members of the court, and Harry's sudden look of confidence.

Ron and Hermione were seated next to each other, on the side opposite Percy, behind Head Auror Scrimgeour and Senior Undersecretary Umbridge. As Harry was going through his little show of bringing Mrs. Figg to the courtroom, Ron turned to Hermione and whispered, "Can you _believe_ all of this? It's _fantastic_!"

"Yes," she breathed in reply. "I read about Pensieves last year, when Harry told us about Professor Dumbledore's — I've always wanted to try one! They're supposed to let you see memories much more clearly than when you actually experience them."

"What if you're experiencing someone else's memories, like now?" Ron wanted to know, but Hermione shushed him.

"Wait, I want to hear what Harry's saying!"

They watched as the conversation between Harry and Fudge became heated, gasping when Fudge threw the decapitated toward Harry.

"He's not even pretending to be impartial," Sirius said scornfully, watching Fudge.

"We never expected him to be," Lupin remarked. "Otherwise things never would have come to this."

They watched the rest of the hearing, including the vote, where Fudge and his cronies found themselves laughably outnumbered, and watched Harry's speedy exit afterwards. As Harry left the chamber, Dumbledore stood. "Time for us to leave," he said, and they floated upward into darkness, finding themselves standing once again around the Pensieve.

"As you can see," Dumbledore said, looking around at the others, "Harry did an excellent job of defending himself, though I confess it was not clear to me why he was reciting fake incantations before revealing Mrs. Figg to the Wizengamot…"

"He was having them on a bit, Dumbledore," Sirius said, smirking.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, and sighed. "I see…"

"Excuse me," Hermione interrupted them. "We're getting away from the point, aren't we? We're trying to figure out what happened to Harry _after_ he left the hearing?"

"Indeed we are, Miss Granger," Dumbledore agreed. "And that brings me to the crux of the situation. After Harry left the courtroom, he was seen with Arthur Weasley, talking with Fudge and Lucius Malfoy, before they retired to Fudge's private office to conduct whatever business they had."

"Monetary business, mostly likely," Sirius said, darkly.

"Quite probably," Dumbledore agreed. "Whatever it was, it did not appear to take long, since the alarm sounded about fifteen minutes after Malfoy left Fudge's office; his assistant — Mr. Weasley's brother Percy, by coincidence —" Ron rolled his eyes at this "— noted his time of departure on the Minister's schedule."

"Percy's finally good for _something_," Ron muttered under his breath.

"I took the trouble to find out a few things," Dumbledore continued. "I discovered that, when Molly Weasley and Ginny returned to Grimmauld Place with the few items they went to retrieve from the Burrow, they said they had just gotten back from there, having taken the Knight Bus — which, Molly told Remus, had taken a full twenty minutes to get them there."

"Yes, she told me that," Remus confirmed.

"However, Dumbledore went on," I had a short talk with Stan Shunpike, the conductor of the Knight Bus, and he does not remember transporting a pair of red-headed witches to Grimmauld Square that day, or any other day in his recollection. As Remus recalled, they arrived at Grimmauld Place about twenty minutes after the alarms rang at the Ministry."

Hermione, Sirius and Remus all looked concerned, but Ron merely looked puzzled. "Maybe she mixed up the time," he said, slowly. "Mum doesn't pay too much attention to what time it is, unless it's the day of the Hogwarts Express."

"There is more, unfortunately, Ronald," Dumbledore said, quietly. Your father and Harry left the Ministry within a few minutes after their encounter with Fudge and Lucius Malfoy in the halls on level nine. Your father was supposed to drop Harry off at Grimmauld Place on his way to Bethnal Green. He said he did so, arriving in Grimmauld Square and Apparating to away almost immediately. When I spoke to him afterwards, at the Ministry, he was extremely upset that he hadn't waited for Harry to enter number 12.

"Yet he was seen arriving in Bethnal Green ten minutes _after_ the Burrow's alarm sounded at the Ministry, according to Perkins, the wizard who works with him and who had been dispatched to take care of the toilet after another complaint about it."

Ron was frowning again. "How — how did he know so precisely when my dad got there?"

"I asked him that very question as well," Dumbledore replied. "It seems Mr. Perkins is due for retirement, but he must stay at the Ministry until the fourteenth of September, to collect his gold watch for 75 years of employment. So he tends to check the time quite often.

"This means that there was a span of approximately thirty minutes where Arthur's whereabouts cannot be accounted for," Dumbledore concluded.

"So what are you trying to say, Professor?" Ron demanded. "That my mum and dad had something to do with Harry's death? That's mental!"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, aghast at his insolence.

"Well, it is!" Ron insisted. "Either of them would _die_ before they betrayed Harry!"

"Of that I have no doubt," Dumbledore said seriously. "But we must consider all possibilities — including the chance that your parents may have fallen under the Imperius Curse."

"Do you suspect Fudge?" Lupin asked, looking at the headmaster thoughtfully.

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, "especially since he has spent an excessive amount of time studying Voldemort's head in the last month. He seemed to be simply trying very hard to prove that it was not him, but I must now revisit that assumption — the Sword of Gryffindor may not have destroyed the Horcrux."

"It would take Basilisk venom to destroy the Horcrux, wouldn't it?" Lupin said, thoughtfully. "That, or _Fiendfyre_, I believe. The sword would not have done it —"

"Except that Harry used the sword to kill the Basilisk, back in our second year!" Ron exclaimed excitedly.

"And one of the legends about the sword," Dumbledore added, smiling, "is that it imbibes only that which makes it stronger! It absorbed some of the venom, making it capable of destroying Horcruxes! An excellent deduction, Mr. Weasley!" Ron beamed at him.

"How do you know so much about these things, Remus?" Sirius wanted to know. "My whole family was into the Dark Arts for generations and I've never heard of Horcruxes!"

Lupin gave a casual shrug. "You never were much interested in the Dark Arts, Sirius, old friend. Whereas I've made it my business to know as much as possible." He looked at Hermione. "It was never posted in the awards room at the school, perhaps because of my — well, my 'furry little problem,' as James called it, but I received twelve O.W.L.s — all Outstanding — and seven N.E.W.T.s, in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions and Transfiguration. Again, all Outstanding. I don't believe any other student at Hogwarts ever received higher marks."

"There was one student who scored higher," Dumbledore commented, his eyes twinkling. "But he was well before your time, Remus."

Hermione was beginning to look agitated. "I'm sorry to be a broken record about this," she said, plaintively. "But we still have to figure out how H-Harry could have been killed, if he was as powerful as it seems."

"Right," Sirius agreed. "More importantly, what happened to that symbol Harry's had for the past few weeks, that — that Star Brand?"

"I think we must assume that Voldemort was able to acquire it from Harry, somehow," Dumbledore said quietly.

No one replied for some time. The implications of the headmaster's statement was awful to contemplate. With that kind of power, nothing could stand in Voldemort's way!

Then, Hermione spoke again, somewhat timidly, "What about that man, the one Harry said gave him the Star Brand in the first place? I think his name was Connell. What's happened to him?"

"An interesting question, Miss Granger," Dumbledore mused. "I wonder if he's aware of the current situation, of what's happened with Harry and the Star Brand."

"How could he be, if he doesn't have that Star Brand thing any more?" Ron asked. "What I want to know is, why'd he even give up something like that in the first place?"  
"He didn't," Dumbledore replied. "When Harry transferred it back to him in my office, Connell divided the power in two, and each of them kept half."

"So that means," Sirius said, a glimmer of hope in his voice. "That he might be able to fight Voldemort using his half of the Star Brand power."

"We have to hope that he will," Mrs. Weasley said, the first she had spoken since their arrival from Grimmauld Place. "For Harry's sake, and for everyone's."

"For now, we should all return to our homes," Dumbledore told them. "And, a word of caution," he added, looking especially at Ron and Hermione. "Please do not say anything about what you have heard about Horcruxes to anyone. If Harry was correct, and possession of the Star Brand does confer immortality upon its bearer, then Horcruxes are probably the least of Voldemort's concerns at this time. Still, I would prefer he thinks he is the only person who knows of their existence. And, I still believe it imperative that we locate them.

"Also," he added, to Ron, "while I have no evidence, beyond that which I've spoken of, concerning your parents' involvement with Harry's death, I suggest you be on your guard with them, and with your sister. If they have fallen under Voldemort's influence, they will undoubtedly attempt to bring other members of your family under his sway as well.

"I will discuss this privately with the other members of the Order," he said to Sirius, Remus and Snape. "As soon as I find out anything, I will inform you all."

Ron, Hermione and the members of the Order all nodded. Dumbledore took the Black Family china plate from his desk, tapping it and saying "_Portus_," then handed it to Sirius; he and the others, except for Snape, reached over and touched it, vanishing a few seconds later in a sudden whirl of color and wind, leaving the two professors alone in Dumbledore's office.

Snape looked closely at Dumbledore for several seconds, then turned away and strode for the door. "Did you have something you wanted to say, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, as the Potions master opened the large, polished oaken door, to leave.

Snape paused, looking at Dumbledore through narrowed eyes. "I do not see how we can survive this, Headmaster," he said, finally. "The Dark Lord's lust for power may finally be sated with this so-called 'Star Brand,' but having found real power, he will soon want even more."

"Assuming we are able to find Kenneth Connell, then, what do you suggest we do?" Dumbledore asked him.

"Have him kill the Dark Lord, if possible," Snape said, "or take back the Brand, at least. Assuming we can locate these Horcruxes and destroy them, he should be vulnerable, then."

"I thought you weren't acquainted with Horcruxes, Severus," Dumbledore commented.

"I've learned never to divulge more information than absolutely necessary," Snape sniffed. "Especially not to the likes of Black and Lupin."

"They aren't your enemies, Severus," the headmaster said, mildly reproving. "They are, perhaps, the only true friends you have."

"Cold comfort, that," Snape said, and left.

***

Services for Harry were held the next day at Grimmauld Place. All the members of the order were there, including Charlie Weasley, who'd arrived from Romania just before lunch, embracing a tearful Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, as well as his father and brothers Bill, Fred, George and Ron. Percy was not present (nor would he be, not being an Order member), a fact that made Mrs. Weasley nearly as tearful as the services themselves.

Remus arrived, with Mrs. Figg, whom he'd brought in from Little Whinging. She had foregone her hairnet for the services and instead wore a black dress and hat, adorned with cats. She kept whispering to Lupin, asking him who the other attendees were; many of them she had never met before.

Ron and Hermione stayed together as they talked with other members of the Order, who all expressed their sympathies to them for their loss. Ron was stoic and tried to appear as if he were holding up bravely, but truthfully, he had no idea what he would do without Harry around.

Hermione smiled gamely at everyone who spoke of the tragedy of someone as young as Harry dying, before his life had even begun, but they were only sounds to her; she barely heard anything, not even Ron's assurances to her that she'd make it through the day with him at her side. There was really only one certainty for her: _Harry was dead_.

"So you're Potter's friends, are you?" A rough voice spoke, very near her, suddenly, and Hermione stepped back, startled. An old man with long, streaming gray hair and gray beard nearly as long as Professor Dumbledore's stood before her and Ron, frowning at them grumpily.

"Y-yeah," Ron said, uncertain who this man was, though he looked eerily familiar, in a way. "And who're you?"

"Barkeep at the Hog's Head, in Hogsmeade," the old man said.

Ron blinked in confusion. "So what're you doing _here_?" he asked. "What's Harry got to do with you? And what've _you_ got to do with the Order of the Phoenix, for that matter?"

"Kind of nosy, ain't ya?" the old man snorted. "Ain't learned how t' keep it out of other people's business yet, have ya?"

"Well, we didn't walk up to _you_ and start talking!" Ron pointed out. "It was the other way round, I reckon!"

"Fair 'nough," the old man said, relenting a bit. "I'm Aberforth. I was a member of the original Order, back when it was first formed in the '70's."

Hermione looked up, recognizing the name. "You mean, you're Professor Dumbledore's brother? _That_ Aberforth?"

Aberforth's expression was sour. "Yes, _that_ Aberforth. But you can hold it down, I don't need my brother knowing I'm here."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, curiously. "Won't he want to see you?"

"Maybe," the old man muttered. "But we don't get along too well at funerals." He turned and disappeared into the crowd of people milling about in the dining room.

A few minutes later, everyone began moving toward the parlor, where the service was to take place. Rows of chairs had been set up facing the front of the house, where Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall stood in front of a white coffin, with wreaths of flowers on either side of it. Dumbledore raised his hand and the room immediately fell silent.

"Thank you all for coming today," McGonagall began. "We've gathered here today to pay our final respects to a brave young man whose death has greatly saddened us all.

"Harry Potter was a unique person," McGonagall went on, "not because he had an interesting scar or because his parents were well-liked in our world, but because he was very much a caring person, a giving person…" she faltered for a moment, but recovered and went on. "It was my honor to have Harry in Gryffindor House at Hogwarts, and he joins an illustrious list of those who have gone before us in the effort to combat the dark forces of oppression and tyranny, including his parents, James and Lily Potter."

"I now ask the head of our Order, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to say a few words about Harry." Dumbledore nodded to her, and McGonagall took a seat in the first row of chairs.

"It was my great honor to meet Harry Potter on the day he turned one week old," Dumbledore told the assembled Order members. "I was visiting Godric's Hollow and remembered that James and Lily's child had been born only a few days before; I thought I would pay them a visit.

"Harry was a beautiful baby," Dumbledore said, his voice calling to mind the still-vivid memories in many members' recollections. "Smiling even then, his little head already covered in a rather unruly mat of black hair, and his eyes, already as green as his mother's. Those were uncertain times, it is true, but Harry gave us all a sense of hope — hope for the future of our world.

"Now, as we lay Harry to rest beside his parents," Dumbledore went on, his voice growing heavy. "We must look forward for hope — hope for our children, that they will grow up in a world free of prejudice and injustice, free of bigotry and intolerance, free of hatred and division. We must continue to fight for these freedoms, so that no one stands alone, as Harry stood alone many times against the forces of evil and darkness.

"It is my dream that Harry will not have died in vain — that his memory will propel each of us to new heights of bravery, of compassion, of the willingness to do what must be done to secure the blessings of peace and happiness for everyone, wizard and non-wizard alike, in our world."

After several moments of silence, Dumbledore spoke again. "If anyone would like to share any of their thoughts, whether about Harry himself, or their feelings about him, please feel free to do so." Dumbledore took a seat next to McGonagall.

For nearly a minute, no one moved. Then, a tall, gangling figure stood and made his way to the front of room, standing before the assembled members of the Order. He stood there for a moment, trembling with emotion, before speaking.

"Harry was one of the best people I've ever known," Ron said at last, then stopped to take a few deep, calming breaths. "He and I didn't always see eye-to-eye on things, but he was always someone you could count on to be at your side, when trouble started happening.

"I remember, in our first year — I guess I can tell this story now, can't I, Professor?" he said, looking at Dumbledore, who smiled and nodded. "We — er, that is, Harry, Hermione an' me — finally realized that someone had tricked Hagrid into telling how to get around Fluffy — that's the three-headed dog he had as a pet back then — and we went to find Professor Dumbledore. But he was gone that day, and we knew the Philosopher's Stone might get stolen by You-Know-Who, so we went to get it ourselves. We had to do a lot of stuff — Hermione even jinxed Neville Longbottom — but we got past Fluffy and the Devil Snare, and the roomful of flying keys, and that chessboard…" Ron looked embarrassed for a moment, but went on. "Well, Harry and Hermione did, at any rate, an' Harry got past another trick while Hermione came back for me. Harry told us later he had to fight Professor Quirrell, our Defense instructor, who was being used by You-Know-Who…

"Harry did a lot of things like that," Ron went on. "Too many times to count, really. And…I'm… really going to miss him…" Ron looked down at the floor, and stopped speaking. After a few moments Dumbledore walked up and put his arm around Ron's shoulder. Ron looked up, into Dumbledore's face, finding a small, sad smile there.

The headmaster nodded to him, and Ron went back to sit next to Hermione, who leaned over and said, softly, "That was very good, Ron."

A few other people stood and gave their thoughts on Harry, as Hermione half-listened, lost in her own memories of him. She wanted to speak as well, but knew she could never make it through, not without breaking down completely. And she knew it would crush Ron if he realized what she felt about Harry, something she'd tried to tell both of them in the past month — with Harry, it had been only the evening before the hearing, just as they'd been ready for bed that night. She had longed to say something to him, to let him know he was special to her, but Ron was nearby and the timing was all wrong — she'd contented herself with pressing a kiss against the door of Harry's room, as she closed it.

If only she had known it was the last chance she'd ever have to tell him, she wouldn't have wasted it! Tears sprang to her eyes, and Ron, misunderstanding what they were for, put his arm gently across her shoulders. She let herself be comforted by him, leaning her head against his shoulder. At least, she knew how _he_ felt about her, even if he seemed incapable of expressing it in ways beyond having her do his homework.

McGonagall was speaking again. "This concludes the services here. We will reconvene in fifteen minutes in the cemetery in Godric's Hollow. For safety's sake, to avoid a confrontation with local non-magical authorities, Muggle-repellant charms have been placed on and around the cemetery, and we will be providing Portkeys beginning in five minutes, at two-minute intervals, to bring everyone interested in going to the burial. Please begin organizing yourself into groups of not more than five per Portkey."

Hermione stood with Ron, letting him guide her toward the corner where Portkey departures were being organized. They left with Tonks, Remus and Moody, arriving toward the back of the cemetery, away from the public entrance and perhaps twenty yards from where the burial was to take place.

"Wotcher, Hermione an' Ron," Tonks said, falling into step beside them as Ron walked with Hermione toward the burial site. "Sorry we didn't get a chance t' talk earlier. Are you doing okay?" she asked Hermione, who wasn't responding to her greeting.

"The service was just getting to her," Ron explained, and Tonks nodded, sympathetically.

"I hate funerals," she said, looking around the cemetery as they slowly walked. "Never been to one yet, even though we've lost a couple of Aurors in the past few years. I always found a way to avoid them. But," she added, looking at them. "I thought I oughta try to make this one." Ron nodded, and Hermione looked up at her, a small smile on her lips at last. Tonks smiled in return, and put her arm around Hermione's, as they neared the place where Harry would be laid to rest.

They were one of the last groups to arrive, as they had appeared further away than most of the others. Nevertheless, they were ushered to a spot nearest the coffin. Hermione saw that was placed on a set of boards laid across the open grave. There was a tent surrounding the site, separating it from the two graves next to it, the ones containing Harry's mother and father, Lily and James. The other members of the Order gathered as near as they could, to hear the wizard who would deliver the last words before Harry went to his final rest.

The wizard standing at the head of the grave was a small man, shorter than most of the other people present. He was dressed in plain, black robes, and had tufts of straw-colored hair sticking up from his head. He seemed to be waiting patiently for a sign to begin, which Dumbledore, standing nearby solemnly watching the mourners gather, saw the last of them arrive and gave a small nod.

"Dear friends," the little man said, his voice clear and melodic, "we are here to pay our final respects to Harry James Potter, a young man taken before his time. He has gone before us, but he will not be forgotten…"

The man went on for some time, speaking glowingly of Harry and his all-too-short life, until Hermione felt she was ready to explode. Finally —

"…we commit his body to the earth, secure in the knowledge that his soul has gone on to the next great adventure. May this memorial grant him, and us, the peace of that knowledge. Thank you all for attending." The Order members began to disperse, slowly.

Two wizards, standing unobtrusively off to one side of the tent, came forward with wands in hand, to lower Harry's coffin into the ground, but Dumbledore stopped them with a gesture. "I will do it," he said, quietly, and they both nodded and retreated. Removing his wand from his robes, Dumbledore tapped the white coffin once, lightly. It lifted off the boards suspending it over the open grave. Dumbledore tapped each of the boards in turn, making them Vanish. When they were gone, the headmaster slowly lowered his wand, and the coffin dropped into the ground. Watching this, Hermione's breath came harder and harder, until finally she turned and buried her face in Ron's shoulder, and he gently rubbed her shoulder, comforting her.

Dumbledore gestured toward the tent, Vanishing it as well, leaving the two wizards standing next to a mound of dirt. Nodding to them, he turned and walked away, toward McGonagall, as the men gestured at the mound and it began filling in the grave.

"Oh, God," Ron whispered into Hermione's ear, though he hardly seemed to realize he was saying it aloud. "He's gone…"

McGonagall was wiping her eyes, Hermione saw, over Ron's shoulder, as Dumbledore approached her and put an arm around her shoulders. He spoke softly to her, words Hermione couldn't hear. Words she didn't want to hear, because nothing could change the fact now.

_Harry was dead_. Dead and buried. And there wasn't any coming back, no matter if the Star Brand granted immortality or not, because if it did, Harry would still be alive.

She spoke with a terrible finality into Ron's ear. "Let's get the hell out of here."

***

A few days after the funeral, their packets from Hogwarts arrived, and Ron and Hermione both found prefects badges inside theirs, to everyone's very great astonishment (including Ron's). Mrs. Weasley shrieked for joy when Ron showed her his badge, actually jumping up and down as she hugged her youngest son, kissing him on both cheeks, while Fred and George stood behind her making retching noises.

"Oh Ronnie, I can't _believe_ it, we're so proud of you!" she said, between kisses, as Ron vainly tried to extricate himself from her arms. "You're a prefect, just like Bill and Percy! That's everyone in the family!"

Fred looked at George. "What're we, friends of the family, then?"

"I can't wait to tell your father!" Mrs. Weasley went on, finally releasing Ron and beaming proudly at him, as he tried to wipe off his face without appearing too disgusted. "We gave Percy an owl, but you've already got one, of course!"

Ron looked at her, bewildered. "What d'you mean?"

"Well, a reward, of course!" Mrs. Weasley said, beaming at him. "You've got to have a reward for this! Would you like a new set of dress robes? Or a new cauldron, the one Charlie gave you is beginning to rust through, isn't it? Or maybe a new pet — you always liked having Scabbers, you said."

"Well," Ron looked at Hermione, hopefully, then at his mother. "Could I maybe get a new broom?"

Mrs. Weasley's smile froze. "Not an expensive one, mind you," Ron added quickly, knowing what his mother was thinking. "Just a new one, for a change."

"Of course, dear," his mother said, already thinking about how she was going to afford getting the gift. "I just can't believe it — our Ronnie, a _prefect_!"

On September first, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George and Ginny, along with Mrs. Weasley, set off toward King's Cross from Grimmauld Place. There was no car for them to ride in this time, no guard to keep them safe. Such perquisites had always been for Harry's benefit in the past, and Harry was no longer with them. On the plus side, Ron had his new Cleansweep 11 broom, his reward for making prefect. The carts for their trunks, conjured by Sirius just outside Grimmauld Place, rolled along effortlessly; they barely needed to touch them to keep them going. There was also a bit of entertainment along — a large, black dog had accompanied them on the trek to the station, running around and barking enthusiastically as they walked. Mrs. Weasley eyed it balefully — she thought it pointless for Sirius to risk exposure, as he was still wanted by the Ministry, but he had insisted on coming along.

At the station they rolled up to the barrier between platforms nine and ten, and when the coast was clear, each of them rolled through it, passing onto Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. Mrs. Weasley pointed toward one of the carriages, and they began unloading their trunks into it, as Sirius gamboled around them, barking happily.

"Hey Fred!" a voice down the platform called, and Fred looked over to see Lee Jordan waving at him. "Nice dog!" Sirius barked again and wagged his tail frantically back and forth.

"Thanks, Lee!" Fred shouted back. "See you on the train!" They finished unloading the carts just as the last warning whistle sounded.

"Alright, hurry, hurry," Mrs. Weasley said, distracted, as she hugged everyone at random; she hugged Hermione twice by accident. "Be good… be sure to write… if you've forgotten anything we'll send it along."

Hermione, standing near the doorway of the train, was looking down at the platform beneath her feet, brooding. It was not going to be a good year, she could feel that. Harry was gone, and Voldemort was out there, somewhere, though in the past two weeks there'd been no word of him, anywhere. What he might be planning, no one could know, until he made his move. And with the power of the Star Brand, _anything_, literally, could happen. She closed her eyes, sighing.

Neither had they found a trace of Kenneth Connell the mysterious man who had brought the Star Brand to earth, and to Harry, for whatever reasons. He must be out there as well, Hermione knew, but where he was and what he was doing remained a mystery.

With Harry dead, though, none of it really mattered anymore.

There was a sudden panting in her ear, and she was tempted to mutter, "Not _now_, Ron." However, when she opened her eyes, Sirius's black eyes and great long nose were directly in front of her, looking at her. "Oh, hello," she said. Sirius cocked his head to one side, almost like a question.

"No, I'm okay," she said, guessing what he was asking. "Just…thinking." Sirius barked, once. "You, too, huh?" she asked. "Just be careful, okay?" Sirius panted for a few seconds, then ran back to stand next to Molly. The train started to move, and Hermione stepped onto the bottom step of the carriage.

"Bye," she said, waving to both of them, and Sirius began trotting alongside the train as it picked up speed, until he was running with it, barking joyously. Hermione could hear students laughing as they watched the dog running with them, until the train pulled away from the station and Sirius stopped at the platform's edge, barking at them.

Walking into the carriage, she found Ron leaning in one of the compartments where his sister Ginny was sitting, with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. "Oh, there you are!" he said, as she came up to him. "Aren't we supposed to go up to the prefects' car?"

Hermione nodded. "We'd better go," she said to Ron, then disappeared up the corridor without waiting for him.

"What's up with her?" Ron said, mostly to Ginny, who shrugged in reply, then pulled the door shut and followed her.

Ginny didn't feel much better than Hermione did, but she was a bit more resilient about the situation. Neville had followed Ginny up the corridor, looking for a place to sit, though he hadn't looked comfortable when she entered the compartment with just Luna sitting inside, holding an upside-down copy of a magazine called _The Quibbler _in her hands.

Neville sat silently for some time, holding his new _Mimbulus__mimbletonia_ in front of him like a shield, not looking at Ginny, wondering how he was going to broach the subject of Harry. Finally, "Sorry — sorry to hear about Harry, Ginny," he mumbled, glancing up at her from behind the plant.

"Thanks, Neville," Ginny replied, with a small sigh. She expected to hear that statement quite often over the next few days, after they reached Hogwarts; a lot of people knew she was nursing a crush on him, though he had never reciprocated. "How did you hear? Was it in the _Prophet_?"

"Yeah," Neville nodded. "Gran told me about it a couple of weeks ago, she read about it there, a great big headline saying 'HARRY POTTER IS DEAD.'"

The upside-down copy of _The Quibbler_ lowered, and Luna Lovegood's protuberant eyes peered at Ginny over its edge. Her dirty blonde, waist-length hair swung from side to side as she stared at each of them in turn. Her eyebrows were very light, and this put a look of perpetual surprise on her face. "Harry Potter is dead?" she said, in a tone of abstract curiosity. "That's very sad — I'm very sorry to hear that, Ginny. Who was he, again?"

Ginny resisted rolling her eyes. "He was the boy who You-Know-Who tried to kill fourteen years ago, but was defeated himself," she said, patiently. "He also saved my life in my first year, when I got hold of a very strange book, the diary of some bloke named Tom Riddle, and it made me — well, do some rather unpleasant things."

"Oh," Luna said, and disappeared behind her magazine once again. Ginny looked at Neville and shrugged.

Hermione, meanwhile, walked toward the front of the train, ignoring Ron's calls for her to slow down and wait for him. "Hurry up!" she finally called back to him. "We were supposed to be with the other prefects when the train left the station!" The letters they'd each received had said they would receive instructions from the Head Boy and Girl on what their duties would be during the train ride; there would also be a meeting of the prefects of each House the first morning of classes, just before breakfast.

Finally reaching the prefects' carriage, Hermione took out her wand and tapped the door, saying the password her instruction packet had provided: "_Cave quid dicis, quando, et cui_!" The door began to move, sliding out of the way. By the time it was open Ron had caught up with her.

"That's why I wanted you to wait," he said to her, panting a bit. "I couldn't have remembered that password to save my life!"

"It's Latin," she said, absently, putting her wand away and stepping through the doorway. "'Take care what you say, when, and to whom.'" Ron stepped through hastily behind her, as the door closed with a _snap_.

Ron was looking around. The prefects' carriage was laid out a bit differently than the other coaches. Instead of a series of compartments holding about six or so students each, the entire left side seemed to be one large compartment. On the right side, through the windows of the train, they could see the English countryside racing by. Nothing was visible through the compartment windows — all the curtains were closed.

"No door," Ron said, frowning. "How do we get in?"

Hermione gave him an exasperated look and pointed down the corridor they were standing in. "It's at the other end, Ron."

"Oh." Ron looked at her, then made an impatient gesture. "Well, let's get a move on, then — we don't want to keep them waiting, do we?"

Sighing, Hermione walked quickly down to the other end of the carriage, where the compartment doors were located. Like the windows they had passed, the curtains were drawn across the door as well. Taking a deep breath, Hermione pushed it open, stepping inside, only to stop, dumbfounded at what she saw. Ron poked his head in behind her, looked around, and exclaimed, "_Excellent!_"

The prefects' compartment was a magnificent dining room, lined in fine wood paneling, with softly glowing gas lights along the walls. The windows were lined with velvet curtains, and the floor covered in a soft, plush carpet. The room seemed much larger than the compartment would have appeared to be from the outside.

Along the center line of the room were four large tables, all covered in fine linen, each with six ornate, carved-wood chairs surrounding them. A long buffet table was set up along the far wall, holding platters of roast beef, ham and chicken, bowls of roasted, baked and mashed potatoes, corn, peas, and tureens of soup, plates of bread and rolls, and many fine condiments. A smaller table nearby held an array of beverages: pitchers of cold pumpkin juice, milk, and tea, and dozens of bottles of butterbeer, along with several decanters of sherry.

While Ron and Hermione were still taking in all of the magnificence before them, a familiar face came forward, beckoning them inside. "Come on in!" waved Hannah Abbot, a Hufflepuff, beaming hugely at them. "We've been wondering where you two were!" Everyone else in the room had stopped talking and were watching the final two arrivals. Hermione could see, beyond Hannah, her fellow prefect Ernie Macmillan, also from Hufflepuff, nodding importantly to her and Ron. Two Ravenclaws from their year were present as well: Anthony Goldstein, a fair-haired boy, and Padma Patil, a raven-haired, olive-skinned girl; Ron remembered that his fellow Gryffindor, Dean Thomas, had said once that Padma and her sister, Parvati, who was in Gryffindor herself, were the best-looking girls in their year.

Angelina Johnson, a seventh-year Gryffindor, had joined them as well. "We're just relaxing for a bit before having dinner," she told Hermione and Ron. "Then, the Head Boy and Girl will hand out assignments for the remainder of the trip." Hermione nodded absently as she looked around for the other prefects from her House. Ron had already waved at Lee Jordan, Angelina's fellow prefect, and they both saw Katie Bell and nodded to her. The Gryffindor standing with her, a large, wiry-haired young man, turned to look at them, staring at Hermione for a long moment.

Angelina, who'd noticed him staring as well, said, "That's Cormac McLaggern." She lowered her voice. "He's been pesting me to get on the Quidditch team, but he's a lot of show and not much go." She smirked. "He also thinks he's Merlin's gift to women."

"So," another voice said, in a low, menacing tone, "Potter's little friends have shown up at last." Hermione and Ron both turned, seeing Draco Malfoy standing a few feet away; he regarded them with a look usually reserved for something found under a rock. Beside him was another Slytherin from their year, Pansy Parkinson, giving them an icy stare.

"Thought I smelled something," Ron retorted, returning Malfoy's look in kind. "How's it going, Malfoy?"

"Listen to you," Malfoy sneered. "How'd your dad manage to scare up the gold to get another son made prefect — has he been out begging in Diagon Alley again?" Murmurs and comment ran amongst the other prefects — the Malfoy/Weasley rivalry was nearly as big as the Potter/Malfoy one.

Ron's ears were beginning to turn red. "Nah," he answered smoothly. "He's been out selling advance tickets to your dad's funeral. Couldn't _give_ 'em away, though." Ron's last comment drew gasps from some present.

"Alright, stop it!" Hermione said, stepping forward between them and putting her hands up to halt any further comments.

"Who are _you_ to try and give me orders, Granger?" Malfoy said, scornfully. "Your parents are just filthy Muggles — my father's family has been foremost amongst purebloods for generation!"

"Take it easy, Malfoy," Lee Jordan said, warningly. "We don't need anyone starting trouble before the first day of school!"

"Well, tell that to Weasley and his girlfriend!" Pansy sniped. "He's the one who started all this!"

"Oh, as if!" Ron snorted, scornfully.

The Head Boy, Roger Davies of Ravenclaw, stepped in. "That's enough from the lot of you," he said, firmly, and both Ron and Pansy fell silent.

"Look," Davies went on, looking around at everyone, but especially at Ron, Hermione, and the other fifth-year prefects. "I know there's a lot of history between some of you, and some of you have lost someone important to you —" he gave a nod to Ron and Hermione "— but what we need to concentrate on now is Hogwarts, and let the governors, the politicians and the bureaucrats sort out their own worries. We're here to learn, not to fight.

"Now, Malfoy, I want you and Weasley to shake hands, and no more sniping at each others' fathers. Right, then?"

Malfoy, looking disgusted, nevertheless stuck his hand out before Ron did, who looked at it for a long moment before taking it in his. Both of them shook, squeezing as hard as they could. Malfoy grinned, but Ron thought he detected the Slytherin's lip twitch in pain before he let go.

"Good!" Davies said, beaming. "Now, let's eat!"

An hour later the fifth- and sixth-year prefects were released, filled with food and drink and eagerly anticipating their new powers and responsibilities. During the rest of the train ride, they were to maintain order throughout the carriages, to make sure students exited the train in a prompt and orderly fashion, upon arrival at Hogsmeade Station, and fifth-year prefects were to see that the first-year students followed Hagrid to the boats rather than taking any of the carriages to the school. They had also, to Ron's delight, been given the power to hand out punishments to students, including deducting points from their House totals.

"This is going to be fantastic!" Ron said excitedly, as he and Hermione made their way back through the train toward where Ginny and Neville were seated. "The only way it could get any better is if I could actually order Fred and George around!"

"Well, you can," Hermione said, in a resigned tone. "But they might not obey." When Hermione had first suggested, somewhat imperiously, that they would have to obey Ron if he gave them orders as a prefect, they had thought it uproariously funny, and she had been affronted at their lack of respect. But now, riding the Express to Hogwarts without Harry along, knowing she would never see him again, such things seemed trivial and inconsequential to her.

They found Neville, still sitting quietly in the compartment with Ginny and Luna, who was still reading her upside-down copy of _The Quibbler_. Neville was still holding his _Mimbulus__mimbletonia_, but now looking somewhat withdrawn. He mumbled a vague reply when Ron greeted him, as they sat down. Ron spied a couple of Chocolate Frogs on the seat next to Ginny, and remarked "I'm starving!" as he reached for one, eliciting an exasperated eye-roll from Hermione, who had just watched him stuff himself with food in the prefects' car. Ron bit into the confection, leaning back in his seat with a contented sigh.

"How'd things go at the prefects' meeting?" Ginny asked, breaking the silence.

"Not bad," Ron said, taking another bite from the Frog. "Guess who made prefect from Slytherin?"

"Probably Malfoy," Ginny said, and when Ron gave her an ironic thumb's up, shook her head disgustedly. "Figures — that slimy git can fall in dung and still come up smelling like a million Galleons!"

"Pansy Parkinson made prefect, too," added Hermione.

"That _cow_?" Ginny snorted. "Snape must've Imperiused Dumbledore to get her in there!"

The copy of _The Quibbler_ lowered a bit and Luna peered at them over the edge. "It's well-known," she said, "that Professor Snape has a secret agreement with the House-Elf Liberation Force to stage a coup and take over as Headmaster of Hogwarts within the next three years."

"_What_?!" Hermione said, disbelievingly. "That's complete rubbish!"

"Oh, you'll see," Luna replied, in a smug tone. "My father has been in contact with a disgruntled house-elf, and Professor Snape is consolidating his power even now. That's why he had the goblins kidnap Harry Potter."

"_What_?!" Ron now said outraged. Even Ginny was now giving Luna a dubious look.

"It's a well-known fact. I've just read it, see?" Luna went on, flipping back a few pages in the magazine, then turning it down in her lap so they could see. Hermione, Ron and Ginny all leaned over to read what she was pointing to. Even Neville tried to look around the edges of his plant.

* * *

POTTERWATCH – Week Three

Harry Potter remains a captive of Goblin forces, part of the overall conspiracy to eliminate both higher education and banking in the Wizarding community as house-elves and goblins join forces with subversive wizard Severus Snape, right-hand man in Cornelius Fudge's underground empire.

Potter, heir apparent to the Hogwarts dynasty and chosen to lead the house-elves in a revolution against pure-blood wizards across Britain, was kidnapped by Goblins after a hearing at the Ministry of Magic on 12 August, in retaliation for his refusal to take part in the rebellion.

(_continued, please turn to page 17_)

* * *

"What utter rot!" Hermione exclaimed, looking up at Luna in shock. "What idiot who came up with this rubbish?!"

"My father's the editor of the _Quibbler_," Luna said, coldly. "And he'll stand by every word written."

"You can't prove a word of that!" Hermione said, angrily.

"Of course not," Luna said, shrugging. "The house-elves and goblins are very good at covering their tracks. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if we hear Father's informant's been killed in some mysterious 'accident' in Hogwarts' kitchens."

"Wait a minute," Hermione sputtered. "Who's this 'informant' supposed to be?"

"A house-elf named Dobby," Luna answered. "Harry Potter rescued him from the Malfoys, three years ago, which started the house-elf liberation movement, S.P.E.W."

"WHAT?!" Hermione exploded, as Ron started to laugh. "That's not how S.P.E.W. started at all! And you'd better bloody well shut it, Ron!"

Ron's laughter subsided, and Luna disappeared behind her magazine without further comment. Ginny wisely kept her mouth shut, as Hermione looked to be in a right state. Neville looked too scared to say anything to anyone. After a while Hermione got up, without a word, and left to make a sweep of the compartments, hoping some students would give her an excuse to chastise them. Ron followed her.

After they left, Ginny shook her head and said softly to Neville, "I hope they don't come back — Hermione's gone completely out of control!"

"I — I guess she's just upset, 'cause of Harry," Neville muttered, from behind the _Mimbulus__mimbletonia._

"Well, aren't we all?" Ginny retorted. "_I_ don't like that he's dead, either — but you don't see _me_ running around hitting people with Bat-Bogey Hexes because of it!"

"Thank goodness," Neville said, smiling, and Ginny giggled. "So what is the story with Harry?" Neville asked, in a low voice; Luna was leaning against the compartment window, seemingly asleep.

"Not altogether sure," Ginny replied, quietly. "He disappeared sometime after his hearing, that's true enough — oh, he used the Patronus Charm to save himself and his Muggle cousin from a couple of dementors who showed up near their house, in early August, if you never heard that," she added, seeing Neville's confused look as she mentioned the hearing. "He was also accused of invading and destroying Malfoy Manor, and assaulting Lucius Malfoy in his home.

"But what Fred and George told me," she added, leaning even closer to Neville, "was that Harry had found some way to beat You-Know-Who, and had gone to Malfoy's house to find him!"

"Wow," Neville breathed. "So what happened with Harry and — er, You-Know-Who?"

"We haven't exactly figured that out yet," Ginny shrugged. "But Harry told us before the hearing he had beaten him. Don't know if that's true now, though, if he's disappeared."

Neville gave her a forlorn look. "I guess you still — er — well, you still miss him, don't you?"

Ginny gave a small shrug. "Yeah, but Hermione's probably right — there's other opportunities out there, even if Harry's gone."

It was getting dark outside, and Ron returned to the compartment alone. "Won't be long 'til we get there," he said. "We should get into our robes." Moving about with difficulty in the cramped compartment, they put on their robes, then sat down to wait for the train to reach the station. As it began slowing down, Hermione returned and without a word changed into her robes as well.

"Come on," she said to Ron, still in a bad mood, "We'd better go make sure everyone's getting ready to exit the train," and walked out of the compartment. Ron paused at the door, giving Ginny a look, and she returned it with a casual shrug. He shrugged as well and followed Hermione out of sight.

"Luna," Ginny asked, as they got ready to leave the compartment. "Can you carry Ron's pet?" She held up the cage holding Pigwidgeon, who was fluttering around excitedly inside it.

"Of course," Luna smiled sweetly, taking it, and Ginny picked up Crookshanks. Neville secured Trevor in an inside pocket of his robe and the three of them walked out.

The first thing they noticed on the platform was that Hagrid, who normally collected the first-years, was nowhere to be seen; instead, Professor Grubby-Plank, holding a lantern aloft, was marshalling them behind her. She passed by, leading a growing troupe of first-years, and they made their way toward the carriages that would take them to Hogwarts. As they found a carriage, Ron and Hermione joined them.

The ride to the castle was uneventful, other than Hermione complaining about Draco Malfoy mistreating a first-year, immediately after saying that she'd confiscated a screaming yo-yo from a distraught second-year.

After the feast, during which Ron and Hermione watched vainly for Hagrid to appear ("Perhaps he's just gotten a cold, or something" Ron suggested, nervously), Professor Dumbledore stood and made his customary beginning of year comments: the Forbidden Forest was out of bounds to students; the caretaker, Mr. Filch, once again wanted it mentioned that magic was not to be performed in the corridors between classes, nor were a host of other things, which were posted on a list attached to his office door, which all students were invited to peruse at their leisure.

"We also have a few changes to the staff this year," Professor Dumbledore concluded. "Professor Grubby-Plank is returning, and will be teaching Care of Magical Creatures classes.

"We have a new professor here as well," Dumbledore said. "Professor Horace Slughorn," gesturing down the teacher's table, and a very fat, bald old wizard sporting an enormous, silver, walrus-like mustache smiled and nodded. "Professor Slughorn will be our new Potions teacher," Dumbledore said, and there was a smattering of applause as Slughorn nodded genially.

Students suddenly became alert; what was this about a new Potions teacher, many of them were saying to one another. Whispers of conversation whirled around each of the tables — Professor Snape was in plain view at the High Table, and many wondered if Dumbledore had at last given in to Snape's dearest ambition, a question which Dumbledore immediately addressed.

"That, of course, would leave Professor Snape out of a job," he said, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. "Except that I have retained his services this year as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor." Dumbledore began to applaud, and the Slytherin table enthusiastically followed suit, joined half-heartedly by the other House tables.

"Snape's the Defense teacher?" Ron looked at Hermione, aghast. "There goes our O.W.L.s!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ron!" Hermione snapped, but she looked worried nevertheless. Snape's teaching techniques in Potions were not particularly progressive — he used intimidation and derision as his primary tools — so his Defense classes were not likely to be much different.

As the feast broke up, Ron stretched and yawned. "Aaah! Merlin's pants, am I ready for bed! I'm going to sleep good tonight — what?"

Hermione was looking at him with a combination of astonishment and exasperation. "We're supposed to make sure the first-years get to the Gryffindor common room, Ron!"

"Oh, yeah." Ron had completely forgotten about being a prefect. He looked down the table to where the new students were seated. They were looking around uncertainly, wondering what to do next. "Oi! You midgets!" he called down the table, and several of the jumped, startled. Ron then said, "Ouch!" as Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ron!" she whispered furiously. "You're not supposed to call them midgets!"

"Well, just look at them!" Ron said, pointing at the lot. "They're so _small_!"

Ignoring Ron, Hermione had stood and walked over to where the first-years were gathered. They _were_ rather tiny, she noticed. "First years, follow me, please." She led the group of first-years (and Ron) up to Gryffindor Tower, where they were introduced to the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Hermione gave them the password Angelina had passed her during the prefects' meeting (ironically, it was "_Mimbulus__mimbletonia_"), then got Ron to take the boys up to their assigned dormitory while she got the girls sorted out in theirs.

Finally, she made her way to her own room, joining the other fifth-year girls in their first evening together since leaving school two months earlier. The other girls were chattering and laughing happily together, something Hermione felt too weary to care about, though she smiled and looked happy, too, to avoid having to say anything. She changed into her nightclothes, then slid inconspicuously into bed and fell asleep, wondering how she was going to make it to the end of the term, much less past her O.W.L.s, in June.

***

The next morning Hermione awoke with barely enough time to get ready for the Gryffindor prefects' meeting before breakfast. She made her way to the appointed place, an unused classroom off the corridor that ran north from the Entrance Hall. Angelina was there, as was Lee Jordan and Katie Bell, but neither Ron nor the other sixth-year prefect, Cormac McLaggern, had made it by the appointed time.

"Right," Angelina said, sighing. "Katie, you and Hermione will need to fill in your fellow prefect, and _please_ impress upon them the importance of showing up on time, whenever we call for a meeting."

Angelina went over the duties each pair of prefects was expected to perform. All prefects were expected to enforce school rules, of course — to that end, they were empowered to deduct house points from students who disobeyed. They were also allowed to assign other punishments, but they must be written down and sent to the student's Head of House for approval, who would then have a teacher administer it. "Overall," Lee Jordan added, "it's easier to just deduct points. The only other thing you can't do is deduct points from another prefect. Which is a bit of a shame, really," he said, with a mischievous grin.

The fifth-year prefects were to keep the common room clean and orderly, and keep the notice board from filling up with useless or outdated information. Professor McGonagall would provide notices from time to time — Angelina handed Hermione one such notice, for the first Hogsmeade visit, on the first Saturday in October. They were also expected to police the toilets nearest the Gryffindor common room, making sure they were weren't littered with used towels and didn't smell overly bad. "Because boys don't smell too good, you know," Lee added, tapping his nose, and Katie, Angelina and Hermione laughed at his pun.

The sixth years were to keep track of students' birthdays and similar special events, and send down information to the kitchens so the house-elves could provide treats like a student's favorite foods for their birthday or other celebration. They were also expected to maintain order during the Hogsmeade trips.

"What do the seventh-year prefects do?" Hermione asked, curiously.

"We make sure you do what we tell you," Angelina smiled.

"It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it," Lee joked.

"Plus," Angelina added, "I'm Quidditch Captain this year and I'm going to be busy with that. I've got to have tryouts to replace Oliver and — and Harry," she finished, quietly.

The meeting broke up but it was several minutes until breakfast began, and Hermione decided to go back up to the Gryffindor common room to see if Ron had woken up yet. On her way up the main staircase in the Entrance Hall, however, she was stopped by Angelina once more.

"Sorry, I almost forgot this," Angelina said, passing her a note. "Professor McGonagall said to give this to you after the meeting this morning."

"Thanks," Hermione said, and turned to continue up the stairs.

"How are you?" Angelina blurted, suddenly, then looked uncomfortable to have asked the question. "I mean, I know things don't seem the same here any more without Harry, and I hardly ever got to talk to him. It must be _awful_, you've known him for so long."

Hermione didn't want to get into it, but — "It's been hard, you know? And even more so for Ron, they were best friends."

Angelina nodded sympathetically, but said nothing more as some other students were walking down the steps past them. "We can talk later, you better see what that note's about."

Angelina went back down the stairs and Hermione continued upward, opening the note and reading.

* * *

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Would you please come to my office this morning after your meeting? There are some important matters I would like to discuss with you concerning the fall term._

_Professor Albus Dumbledore_

_p.s. The password is "Fizzing Whizbee."_

* * *

Hermione stared at the note curiously for several moments. What could Professor Dumbledore want to talk to _her_ about concerning the fall term? Bemused, she made her way to the entrance of the Headmaster's office, where a stone gargoyle silently stood guard. "Fizzing Whizbee," she said.

The gargoyle leapt aside, and she rode the ascending spiral staircase to the top, then stood before the polished oaken door of Professor Dumbledore's office. She knocked, and the headmaster's voice immediately replied, "Come in."

The professor stood as Hermione entered his office. "Ah, thank you for coming, Miss Granger. Please sit down," he said, indicating a chair in front of his desk. Once she was seated, Dumbledore sat for several moments, his fingers steepled before him, regarding her.

"I'm sure you're aware of the many implications that Harry's death, and Voldemort possible return hold, both for wizard-kind and for the world at large," Dumbledore said, ignoring Hermione's flinch at the mention of the Dark Lord's name.

"I believe so," she said, slowly. "I've wondered why he hasn't come forward already, if he possesses the kind of power Harry implied he had, when he told Ron and me about the Star Brand."

"Harry confided its capabilities in you, then?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not exactly," Hermione hesitated. "He said he could do anything he could imagine, that the man who'd given it to him, Kenneth Connell, had seemed capable of many things, such as traveling through space at almost the speed of light, and living for thousands of years, traveling from a distant galaxy, though Harry didn't say how Mr. Connell had gotten there."

"I believe Kenneth Connell is our key to understanding what we must do to stop Voldemort — indeed, he may be our only hope of doing so," Dumbledore said, seriously. "But he has not tried to locate Harry again since the last time they talked, almost a month ago. Has he made contact with you or Mr. Weasley?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "I've never even met him. But…" Hermione looked on the verge of asking a question, but hesitated."

"Go ahead, if you have a question, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, encouragingly.

"Well, sir," Hermione looked very uncomfortable, bringing up the subject, "but — but what does this Connell fellow have to do with, er — with Horcruxes?"

"Ah, a very intelligent question!" Dumbledore smiled. "The answer is — nothing."

Hermione stared at him, blankly. "Sometimes, even the best-laid plans go astray," Dumbledore continued, wryly. "I finally located Professor Slughorn, shortly before Harry's hearing was to take place. He was not interested in returning to teach at Hogwarts, and I was going to have Harry help me try to persuade him, when the events of August twelfth took place.

"Professor Slughorn has memories directly relevant to the issue of Voldemort's Horcruxes, but if he has taken the Star Brand from Harry, those concerns may be moot. I have members of the Order assisting me in the effort to locate those Horcruxes —"

"I'd like to help!" Hermione interrupted, but Dumbledore held up a hand, quieting her.

"I do plan to have you help, Miss Granger," he told her, "but you must be able to do so while still at school — it is the safest place for you to be."

"But what can I do from _here_?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Quite a bit, actually," Dumbledore said. "It will involve doing something I believe you find quite interesting — reading." He placed a hand on a pouch on his desk and moved it across the desk, in front of her. "I've assembled a list of newspapers and periodicals, both Muggle and from the Wizarding community. I will have these delivered to you every other day or so. I would like you to read them all carefully, with an eye toward any possible connection, either to Voldemort or Kenneth Connell, and report your findings back to me, through Professor McGonagall."

Hermione opened the pouch, looking through the newspapers and magazines inside. As well as the _Daily Prophet_, she found the _Daily Express_, a Muggle tabloid, the _Guardian_, a much more respected paper, the _Scotsman_, a respected paper of the region, and, to her surprise, both _Witch Weekly_ and _The Quibbler_, the magazine Luna had been reading on the Hogwarts Express.

"I would think any news about You-Know-Who would be obvious," she remarked, matter-of-factly. "And from what Harry said, Connell won't even show himself in public — if he's even still on Earth."

"I expect any references involving Voldemort, such as unexplained deaths or disasters, will be highly indirect, just as any news of people being saved from disasters, or disasters being averted, could be Connell's work." Dumbledore looked at her, his expression quite serious. "Do you think you will be able to accomplish this, along with your prefect duties and O.W.L. studies, Miss Granger?"

Hermione felt quite proud to be given this assignment by Dumbledore, when she wasn't even a member of the Order. "Yes, sir, I will."

The headmaster beamed at her. "Excellent! You may take these with you, now — in the future, Professor McGonagall will be collecting them for me. You may obtain them from her by asking her if she has any extra assignments for you to work on."

Dumbledore reached into his robe and pulled out a small pocket watch. He glanced at it for several seconds, and Hermione saw that, unlike a regular pocket watch, this one had twelve hands rather than two or three, and there were planets around the edge instead of numbers. "I see breakfast is about to begin, you had best be on your way, Miss Granger."

"Yes, sir." Hermione picked up the pouch of papers, then walked to the door. But before she left, she turned back to Dumbledore. "Sir? May I ask a question?"

"You just did," Dumbledore replied, a smile quirking his lips. "But you may ask another, and I will answer, if I can."

"Why did you make Professor Snape the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year?"

Dumbledore considered a moment. "I gave Professor Slughorn, as a favor for returning to teach, his choice of which position to teach. He preferred Potions, so Defense fell at last to Professor Snape."

Recognizing this as a polite deflection of her question, Hermione nodded and took her leave, exiting into the corridor at the base of the spiral stairs. She returned to the common room, learning that Ron had just left for breakfast, and caught up with him just as he was going down the main staircase to the Entrance Hall.

"_There_ you are!" Ron said, as she fell into step beside him. "I waited around in the common room 'til someone said you were already gone. Where were you?"

"There was a Gryffindor prefects' meeting this morning, did you forget?" she reminded him primly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Couldn't have been _that_ important," he said, half-joking. "Nobody came and woke me up for it."

"Just try not to forget the next time we have a meeting, okay?" Hermione said, plaintively. "Oh, Angelina's having Quidditch tryouts soon, she's the new Captain. I thought you might want to know."

They were at the base of the stairs. Ron stopped short, looking at her. "D'you really think I could get on the team?"

Hermione looked back at him. "You won't know unless you try."

They began walking again, into the Great Hall. Ron looked like he was thinking furiously, for a change. "Might be fun, playing Quidditch with Fred and George on a real team for a change, rather than just throwing apples at each other in our old orchard." He saw the pouch slung from Hermione's shoulder, along with her rucksack. "What's in the bag?"

Hermione glanced down, just then remembering she still had it. "Just some reading material, for extra credit."

Ron shuddered. "Good luck with that," he said, as they sat down to breakfast.

***

Hermione was soon immersed in her schoolwork, her prefect duties, and her reading assignments from Dumbledore. She was almost never seen without some reading material in her hand — whether a schoolbook, a newspaper, or a magazine. Even while cleaning up the girls' toilet of the infrequent castoff towel or water spilled from sinks, she was always holding something to read.

Ron, along with his sister Ginny, both tried out for and obtained positions on the Quidditch team, making it a real "family effort," as Fred joked once during dinner in the Great Hall. Ron took over Oliver Wood's position as Keeper, and Ginny stepped into the Seeker position, formerly held by Harry. With Angelina, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet as Chasers, and Fred and George in their usual positions as Beaters, the Gryffindor team now had the distinctions of being mostly female (four girls and three boys) and red-heads (all of the Weasleys). With Angelina, Katie Bell, and now Ron, it was also the team with the most prefects. Ron, soon busy with Quidditch practice after classes, didn't see much of Hermione, except later in the evenings when they were both studying in the common room.

Hermione hardly noticed, however. She was busy with class work, and her extracurricular reading had noted some odd trends in the Wizarding community. Some Ministry officials had begun to resign: Rufus Scrimgeour left in mid-September; Pius Thicknesse, second in command in the Auror department, left shortly thereafter, creating something of an administrative vacuum. Unexplainably, Kingsley Shacklebolt was not promoted; instead, Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge was given a "sideways" promotion to Head Auror, an unusual move considering she had never been through Auror training. Both Scrimgeour and Thicknesse, along with several other minor administrators who resigned, seemed to pass out of the Wizarding world's notice; the _Prophet_ no longer printed information on their whereabouts or activities.

In the Muggle news, she found, not unmistakable signs of help from an unseen benefactor, as might be expected if Connell was secretly helping people in need, but _possible_ indications of such: a bridge in China that threatened to collapse, but managed to hold together until everyone had gotten clear; in Africa, a drought which threatened several tribes came to an end when an unexpected rain washed across the region, replenishing water supplies. Occurrences such as this were probably coincidences, but she reported them to Dumbledore, along with her assessment of the situation.

Back at school, Hagrid reappeared around the end of October, taking over Care of Magical Creatures from Professor Grubby-Plank once again. In one of their rare times together, she and Ron visited his cabin, where Hagrid told them a tale of his trek into the Russian mountains, to parley with the giants there. But the journey had come to naught — the giants were not interested in anything Hagrid had to say to them, and no Death Eaters had tried to negotiate with them for months; one that had been there in August had simply left one day in the middle of a conversation, infuriating the Gurg, who forbade further conversations with outsiders. With no one to talk to, Hagrid had decided to return to Hogwarts.

Professor Slughorn proved to be a capable Potions master, and much more personable than Snape, although Hermione learned that he had instituted some kind of monthly activity, called the _Slug Club_, the purpose of which seemed to be to allow certain students to stroke Slughorn's ego and be stroked in turn. Cormac McLaggern was in the club, she heard, and Angelina told her that Slughorn had wanted Hermione to join as well, though she'd never received an invitation. During Potion classes, she found Slughorn exerting subtle pressure on her (and on Ron, whom the Potions master somehow sensed was attached to her) to join the meetings. Ron, miffed that he hadn't been invited as well, didn't play along with Slughorn, and Hermione resisted as well. She had more important things on her mind than some silly ego-driven meetings.

Snape was harder to ignore. He still held both her and Ron in contempt, but without Harry present to goad him to further hostility, his classes were tolerable but demanding. His practical, fortunately, were quite informative, especially since Snape was sometimes unable to resist showing off his talent at jinxes, hexes and curses, and so was quite often required to demonstrate their countercurses as well. By the time December had rolled around, most students in the Defense classes had put together quite a repertoire of spells for hexing and cursing one another.

But other trends had also become noticeable during the term, ones that reminded Hermione that there were some questions where the Weasley family were concerned. Fred and George had expanded their line of novelty items, and seemed quite keen on disrupting school activities with them, whether with fireworks above the Great Hall, swamps popping up in corridors, or students suddenly coming down with strange maladies and ailments, only to be suddenly cured once they were sent to the infirmary. Ron just shrugged — there was no way to control them, he told Hermione.

Ginny, as well, had begun acting differently, and though it wasn't much different from some of the other girls in her year, she seemed to be going round with quite a few boyfriends, Hermione thought. She'd been seen with Michael Corner, Dean Thomas, Zacharias Smith — even Neville Longbottom, a time or two! All of them still seemed friendly with her afterwards, even if they didn't hang out anymore.

Ron, of course, would turn purple whenever someone mentioned one of them and Ginny in the same breath, though he maintained that Ginny and Neville were "just friends," and that she'd dated Dean Thomas on the rebound from Corner. Which just showed, Hermione decided, how clueless Ron really was about his sister, and that he'd never taken Dumbledore's concerns about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seriously.

In early December Professor McGonagall gave Hermione another notice for the Gryffindor common room board, reminding students to sign up if they wanted to stay over the holidays, so the staff could make plans for the Christmas Feast. Hermione had quietly gone to the deputy headmistresses' office and added her name to the list. Ron and his brothers and sister would be going home to the Burrow for Christmas, but she didn't feel in a particularly Christmas-like mood. Even going home to her own parents hadn't seemed inviting, though she did make vague allusions in a letter to them about visiting Ron's house, so they wouldn't think she was alone on Christmas.

On the first morning of holiday, Hermione had disappeared after breakfast, going to the Library with her latest pouch filled with newspapers and magazines to read, hoping to make a final report to Dumbledore before taking a break herself (which meant she planned to find some books _she_ wanted to read, for a change) when Ron unexpectedly showed up, looking for her.

"_There_ you are!" he said, annoyed. "You'd better get a move on, it's less than a half-hour 'til the Express leaves Hogsmeade!"

Hermione looked up from her reading. "I'm staying here this Christmas, Ron," she said, flatly.

"What for?" He looked a bit hurt. "We've hardly seen each other all term, I thought you'd want to go on holiday, stop acting like a prefect for a while."

She gave him a condescending look. "You mean as opposed to you, who stopped acting like one two days after we got here?"

Ron's eyes narrowed. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that you've been acting like this is a game, running around deducting points from Slytherins like Crabbe and Goyle every chance you get!"

"We've got to!" Ron snapped, heating up. "Malfoy's been doing the same thing, to us _and_ to Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws as well!"

"You're not supposed to descend to their level!" Hermione objected.

"Well _somebody's_ got to!" Ron shot back. "Otherwise Slytherin'll win the House Cup by default!"

Hermione started to say that the House Cup wasn't that important in the scheme of things, but was interrupted by a loud "_Shhhhh_!!" from Madam Pince, who'd suddenly appeared and was glaring at them. "There is no talking in the Library!" she said furiously, in a stage whisper.

Ron looked around, incredulous. "There's nobody else even _in_ here!"

"Then you two shouldn't be, either!" Pince pointed toward the door. "Both of you get out, now!"

Hermione quickly gathered up her reading materials and walked out, frustrated with Ron for getting them in trouble. But by the time she had walked into the corridor she had calmed down again. She turned toward the nearest up staircase, heading for Gryffindor Tower and the common room, with Ron dogging her heels. The Fat Lady's portrait barely got out of her way as she muttered the password, then passed inside, dropping her books and magazines on the nearest table. A few first-years ducked out of sight, presumably to eavesdrop on their conversation, as Ron strode up to her after casting a single, smoking glare in their direction.

"So what's this all about, Hermione? You got some kind of bug up your —"

"_Ron_! Language!" Hermione said, jerking her head toward the first-years.

"Fine!" Ron said, and whipped out his wand. "_Muffliato_!" he said, pointing it toward where the first-years were hiding. The spell, shown to them earlier in the term by Professor Snape, was a little-known hex that filled people's ears close to the caster with a buzzing sound, keeping them from hearing nearby conversations. "Now, spill it!"

"Spill _what_?"

"Whatever the hell your problem is! You've hardly said 'boo' to me all this term!" Ron was pacing back and forth in front of her. "Your nose is always in some book or newspaper, or you're doing 'extra credit' for McGonagall or some other such crap! I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you told me you'd gone and gotten yourself a new boyfriend!"

Hermione's head whipped round, to stare at him. "And just _what_ makes you think I ever had an _old_ one, Ronald Weasley?!" she asked, scornfully.

Ron's lips pulled back, his expression somewhere between a sneer and grimace. "Oh, so _that's_ what the problem is, is it? D'you think we weren't friends, then?"

"That's _not_ what you were implying, and you know it!" she snapped. "You've been fussed ever since I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, and when I leaned on you for support at Harry's funeral, you decided that meant I'd fallen for you!"

"Well, you did!" Ron argued. "Everyone thought so — Ginny did, Fred an' George did, even Mum did!"

"Right," Hermione sighed, "and everything they tell you is right, and for your own good."

Ron glared at her. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Hermione glared back at him. "You do remember, Ron, that Dumbledore told you about the circumstances of the timing of Harry's death, _at the Burrow_, and your mum, dad and sister's whereabouts, and potential exposure to the Imperius Curse, don't you?"

She had expected him to get mad, but Ron merely sat back, regarding her for several moments, before saying, "Yeah, I remember, of course. I've been watching them, but I haven't seen any indication they've been Imperiused."

Hermione leaned forward, astonished. "Really? You think all the disruptions Fred and George have been causing with those pranks they've been pulling aren't undermining the authority of Professor Dumbledore and the other teachers?"

Ron looked at her blankly. "Hermione, that's what they _do_! That's what they've _always_ done! Fred and George not being disruptive would be like the sun not coming up in the morning!"

Hermione considered. "Hm, I see your point," she said, pensively. "But you can't say Ginny's been acting normal."

Ron's face darkened. "Stay out of it, Hermione."

"Why? Don't you think she's acting unlike herself?"

"I bloody hope so!" Ron exploded, then stopped, taking a deep breath. "Fred an' George said," he went on, more quietly, "she's probably just overcompensating for Harry's loss."

"But she told me last year," Hermione objected, "that she was over waiting for Harry, that she knew he probably wasn't interested in her."

"Well, maybe you didn't know her as well as you thought you did," Ron snapped at her. "Just like I thought I knew you," he added, bitterly, "when we were together at — at Harry's funeral…" His eyes were getting misty.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "Oh, grow up! Can't we have a moment of closeness without you thinking I'm yours forever?!"

Ron stood stock still for several moments. His ears, which had been nearly glowing red, went pale. "Fine, then," he said, with preternatural calmness. "I'll grow up, then." He walked over to the portrait-hole, then turned to face her a final time.

"If you decide you want to come to the Burrow sometime this holiday, drop us an owl, I hear the fare on the Knight Bus is only thirteen Sickles." He turned away, but then turned back, pulling out his wand, and pointed it toward the first-years, saying, "_Finite_," to cancel the _Muffliato_ spell. "See you around," he said, pocketing his wand, and left.

Her lips trembling and eyes watering, Hermione quickly gathered her books and ran up the stairs to her room, collapsing in tears onto her bed, glad that she was the only girl left in her year.

The next several days passed in a haze of tears and fits of sleep. Hermione left her room only for an occasional meal, eating sparingly and talking with no one, avoiding conversation even with McGonagall and the other Hogwarts teachers still at school, who began to worry about her. Once, McGonagall even came into her dormitory room, but Hermione feigned sleep, and McGonagall watched her for several minutes, her own expression clouded, before leaving. The Monday before Christmas, while she was in the Great Hall getting some water and a piece of toast, an owl arrived with a note from Ginny, but Hermione returned to her room, tossing it onto her bedside table unopened and unread.

It was late on Christmas Eve before Hermione felt interested enough again to read anything. Coming down from her dormitory to the Gryffindor common room, she found a pouch of newspapers and magazines on a table marked "Miss Hermione Granger." She sat down and began sorting through them listlessly. There wasn't much of interest in any of the Wizarding periodicals. _The Quibbler_ was doing a "Christmas Crackers Special" on whether Harry Potter was dead (according to "unsubstantiated rumors," Hermione read, with disgust) or merely in hiding from the goblins, and _Witch Weekly_ had a "Where Are They Now?" retrospective featuring Gilderoy Lockhart (still in St. Mungo's), He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (officially still "dead") and Rita Skeeter (also, coincidentally, the author of the article; currently preparing several exposés for an unnamed source).

The Muggle newspapers were even less interesting, filled with the standard holiday fare of recipes, heartwarming stories, and shopping woes. News always seemed to take a holiday around the holidays. The most noteworthy story Hermione had come across was of a freak accident in Cairo that had claimed the life of Boutros Ghali, the current Secretary General of the United Nations. The Minister for Foreign Affairs from the Netherlands, a P. Thicknesse, had been nominated to replace him.

Hermione dropped the paper back onto the table, wearied by the months of reading, summarizing, making inferences, and flat-out guessing about the nature of events she was reading about. She rubbed tiredly at her eyes, not wanting to do anything but sleep, but not feeling sleepy. She remembered the last real conversation she'd had, and sigh unhappily; she'd botched things with Ron, and royally so. He might never speak to her again, or at least, not as a friend. She would just have to wait and see.

So immersed was Hermione in her self-recriminations that she did not hear the Fat Lady's portrait swing open, nor the tall figure that stepped carefully into the room and walked over to her, until he was almost upon her.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione whirled around with a startled, "OH!" to see Professor Dumbledore standing before her, staring at her with some concern.

"I am so sorry, Miss Granger," Dumbledore looked mortified to have startled her. "I do not mean to intrude…"

"It's alright, Professor!" Hermione said, sitting up straight and absurdly smoothing her night robe. "I — I was just finishing up some reading for my next report."

"I see." Dumbledore was glancing over the articles spread across the table. "But surely, this is something that will wait until after the holidays."

"I didn't have anything better to do," Hermione shrugged.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at her. "I find that rather hard to believe," he told her, sounding regretful. "It seems as if you might have considered going home for the holidays, or visiting friends."

"There's only one person I'd like to see right now," she muttered. "And that's not possible, because he's — he's dead."

Dumbledore nodded, slowly. "I miss him too, Miss Granger." He considered for a moment, then said, "Perhaps it is not a bad idea, at that."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, not understanding.

"As it turns out, I am overdue for a visit to Godric's Hollow myself — I try to go there every Christmas Eve, as a gift to myself, but for these past few years, time has not been on my side.

"If you are interested in going, however, I believe we can find time this evening to make the trip."

Hermione looked up at the headmaster. It would be a bittersweet occasion, visiting Harry's grave, but at the moment there was nothing she would rather do. "I'll get changed and be back down in five minutes!" she said, standing.

Dumbledore smiled and turned toward the portrait hole. "Please come to my office when you are ready. The password is 'Fizzing Whizbee'."

"What? Still?" Hermione asked, surprised. "That's what it was at the start of term!"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I like Fizzing Whizbees," he said, chuckling, and exited through the hole.

Hermione raced up to her dormitory and threw on a pair of jeans and a warm blouse, thick socks and shoes, and her warmest coat, then pelted through the corridors to Dumbledore's office entrance and gave the password to the gargoyle once again, who nimbly leapt aside, allowing her up the steps to his office. She knocked excitedly and was inside almost before Dumbledore finished saying "Come in."

"Excellent timing, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, picking up a teacup from a tea service sitting on a small table next to his desk. "I just finished a note to Professor McGonagall saying that we would be gone for an hour or so."

"Does she know where we're going?" Hermione asked, panting a bit as she caught her breath from the run through the seventh-floor corridors.

"I believe she has some idea," Dumbledore said, tapping the teacup; it glowed blue and shuddered slightly. "But we have never discussed it." He held out the teacup for Hermione. She touched it, and immediately the sensation came of being hooked behind her belly button, and she was drawn inward amidst a whirlwind of colors and sounds. A few moments later she and Dumbledore appeared on the cold ground just outside Godric Hollow's graveyard.

There was a kissing gate across its entrance, which Dumbledore opened, allowing Hermione in ahead of him, then walking along the path leading behind the church; Hermione hardly remembered it from when she was here last. Once behind the church, Hermione saw row upon row of gravestones. There seemed to be hundreds of them, but it was only a trick of the darkness and her mental fatigue. Suddenly Dumbledore stopped in front of a dark tombstone, looking down at it. Hermione looked around him, to see better.

"Is it —" she began, but stopped when she looked at him and saw an expression of profound sadness on his face.

"This is my mother and sister's grave," Dumbledore said quietly, and Hermione turned to look at it, making out the name Kendra Dumbledore on the dark stone, and below her dates of birth and death, and her Daughter, Ariana.

"They lived here in Godric's Hollow, too?" Hermione whispered, in utter surprise. The date of Kendra's death was long ago, before the turn of the century, and Hermione recalled once again how long wizards could live.

Wanting to give the headmaster some time to himself at his mother and sister's graves, Hermione began to look around slowly, trying to recognize from the layout where Harry's grave might be. As if he knew her intentions, Dumbledore pointed further back into the cemetery. "They are over there," he said, without looking. "I will join you in a few minutes, Miss Granger."

Nodding Hermione followed his pointing finger. Only two rows further back she found Harry's parents' gravestone, made of white marble so it was easy to read at a distance. Coming up to the grave, Hermione read the words engraved upon the white stone.

James Potter  
Born 27 March 1960  
Died 31 October 1981

And next to it,

Lily Potter  
Born 30 January 1960  
Died 31 October 1981

Below both names was written

'_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.'_

Next to his mother's side, Hermione saw, at last, Harry's grave. The sight of it made her heart leap into her throat, so powerful was the sense of loss she felt. His gravestone was of white marble as well, like his parents. Hermione wiped her eyes dry and read the words engraved upon it.

Harry James Potter  
Born 31 July 1980  
Died 12 August 1995

She was trembling, and her breath came raggedly, billowing out before her in the cold. She wanted to scream, "_Why_?!" at the heavens, at Voldemort, at the Ministry, for all of them had taken him away — away from all of his friends, away from _her_, and it almost seemed as if death would be worthwhile, if it brought them together again. Merlin knew what the world was going to be like, _help_ if Voldemort was still out there _me_.

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it. She was more tired than she thought, she wasn't thinking clearly. Her head was throbbing _help_ with fatigue _me_. She turned around, wondering if Dumbledore had said something to her, but the headmaster was still bowed over his mother and sister's graves. She looked back at Harry's grave, thinking back to that absurd article in _The Quibbler_ about him being kidnapped by goblins. At that moment the bell in the church tower began to chime the hour. She counted the chimes as she stood before Harry's grave, hearing the bell toll twelve times, the beginning of Christmas Day.

_Harry, I wish I could, even for a little while, be more like Luna Lovegood_, she thought. _I wish it was easy for me to believe impossible things, like you being alive again. I wish — I wish you could be alive again, with me…_ She closed her eyes. There was a soft _thump_ in the distance.

Opening her eyes again, Hermione looked around. She saw nothing that might have made the noise. The _thump_ came again, sounding louder this time. Had it come from the church? Was someone banging on its doors? But she could see no one near the back doors of the church. Professor Dumbledore was still standing over the grave, two rows back; apparently he had heard nothing.

The _thump_ came again, louder than ever, and Hermione looked fearfully, unbelievingly, at the ground on Harry's grave. It was different, somehow. The _thump_ came again, even louder, and the cold ground above the grave cracked slightly. Hermione stifled a small scream. _What could be happening_?

Dumbledore was suddenly beside her. "What has happened?" he asked, quickly, and she pointed at the ground. Even as she did so, there was another THUMP and the ground cracked even more.

"Stand back," Dumbledore said, and both he and she moved away from the grave. Dumbledore took out his wand and waved it once. The frozen ground Vanished, leaving the Harry's white coffin, now stained brown with soil and six months time in the ground, lay bare at the bottom of the hole.

Dumbledore raised his wand, and the coffin floated out of the grave, landing on the ground next to it. Hermione started forward, but Dumbledore caught her arm, and at the same moment there was a tremendous CRACK and the lid of the coffin flew off, a dozen feet into the air, then down toward the earth, until a wave of Dumbledore's wand stopped it in mid-air, mere inches before it slammed into the ground.

Inside the coffin, a dark-haired figure sat bolt upright, then tried to stand but fell back, breathing deeply. Looking down at itself, it realized it was naked, but even as it clutched at its bare chest, with another wave of Dumbledore's wand a black robe enveloped it. The figure looked up, into Hermione's eyes. His features were gray and dusty, as if he were a piece of stone that had suddenly come to life; his hair was disheveled and matted. But his eyes were still a brilliant green.

"H-Hermione?" he said, his voice a rasp. "You — you heard m-me…"

"Yes," she nodded, tears streaming from her eyes — tears of disbelief, of happiness, of joy, for it was Harry looking at her. Harry, who was dead and was now alive again. Impossible. _Impossible, but true_.

She pulled her arm free from Dumbledore's grasp and ran to the coffin, falling to her knees and embracing Harry tightly, as if she would never let him go again. "Harry! You're back! Oh, my God! You're back! But _how_?"

Harry said nothing for a long time, just holding her. When she finally moved back a little, to see his face again, he smiled and said to her, "_You_ brought me back. I heard you wish we could be together again. Wherever I was before then, whatever had happened to me, I heard you.

"And I came back to you."


	5. Rejuvenation

The Potter Brand

Chapter 5

"Rejuvenation"

Hermione stood slowly, and Harry rose with her, a smile of pure happiness on his face at seeing her again. She was smiling, too, though tears streaked her face, for they were tears of joy. As she watched, Harry's gray, dusty features changed, filling with life and color as he gazed at her. Within moments he again looked fully alive. Behind Hermione, he saw Dumbledore looking at him too, in surprise and delight. Harry nodded to the headmaster. "Hello, Professor," he said, a smile quirking his lips. "You're a bit late for our appointment with the Wizengamot."

Dumbledore might have chuckled if the circumstances hadn't been so grave (literally), but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as well. It was several moments before he composed himself, and replied, "I do apologize to you, Harry. This might have been avoided, had I anticipated such a move from Cornelius. Or from Voldemort, for that matter." Dumbledore shook his head, angry with himself. "It's all the more galling, in hindsight, realizing that I might have detected his presence in that decapitated head, yet failed to perform the spell that would have done so!"

Harry gave a small shrug. "No problem, don't worry about it — though I thought the Wizengamot would have more sense than to let Fudge take over the hearing like that."

Hermione, who'd been staring raptly at Harry from the moment he'd risen from the coffin, now gave him a puzzled frown. "Fudge already _had_, taken over, Harry — Professor Dumbledore was removed as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot at the beginning of August. I suppose you didn't see it in the _Prophet_ back then."

"I guess I didn't," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I was looking for front-page news about Voldemort's return, not something like that."

"Just as Miss Granger and I came here looking for a moment of quiet reflection regarding friends and family lost, and found something that we dared not hope for, come true. It is very good to have you back, Harry." Dumbledore gazed at him with undisguised affection.

Harry stepped out of the coffin, then took Hermione's arm gently and walked over with her to stand before their headmaster. "It's good to be back, sir, though I didn't expect to be, to tell you the truth. For a while, I didn't know _where_ I was, either alive or dead."

"What matters is that you're back now," Hermione said, putting an arm around him and pressing herself against his side.

"What do you remember, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "Do you recall anything at all about where you were?"

"I don't know, exactly," Harry shook his head, trying to remember. "Somewhere dark and cold, I think."

"Were you inside the coffin?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not at first, I don't think," Harry replied. "It seemed like I was sitting somewhere, not lying in that box — I was trying to figure out what I was going to do next. That seemed to go on for a long time.

"Suddenly, I heard a voice, like someone talking to themselves." Harry turned to look at Hermione. "It was you," he said to her. "I could hear you wishing I could come back. When I looked around to see where you were, I found myself in that box. I started thumping the lid, to see if someone could hear me. And, you did," he finished, smiling at both of them.

Hermione smiled blissfully back, but suddenly grimaced as a gust of cold winter wind swept past them. "Aren't you _freezing_?" she asked, shivering; while she and Dumbledore were wearing heavy winter coats, Harry was clad in only the robe Dumbledore had conjured for him.

Harry looked down at himself, then at them. Both Hermione and Dumbledore were feeling the effects of the cold, he could see, though the professor had as yet made no complaint. Harry himself had paid no attention — the chill didn't seem to affect him at all. "I hadn't thought about it," he said, with another shrug. "But we can go somewhere where it's warm, if you like."

"My office," Dumbledore said quickly, bringing up his wand. "I will enchant a Portkey—" but Harry shook his head.

"I'll do it," he said, but first he turned back to the open grave. "After a bit of cleanup," he added. Harry gestured and the coffin lid, still floating nearby several inches off the ground, flew back onto the coffin, then slid over and dropped into the open pit. Soil and frozen grass appeared on top of it — in a few moments the grave appeared exactly as it had before Dumbledore and Hermione arrived.

"Harry —!" Hermione gasped, amazed at what he just done, even without the Star Brand, but before she or Dumbledore could say anything, the three of them disappeared in white flashes, appearing a moment later in the headmaster's office. It was cool and dark there — the fireplace was nearly extinguished, but with another gesture Harry reignited it, bringing up a roaring flame that filled the office with light and dancing shadows; warmth began flowing back into the room.

"That's better," Harry said. He looked down at himself and the black robe changed into a black T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and Harry's favorite pair of trainers. He did not conjure a new pair of glasses, however.

"Much better," Harry said to himself, smiling. Dumbledore and Hermione glanced at one another, for in fireplace's brighter light they had both noticed how different Harry now appeared: he stood several inches taller than before, nearly as tall as Dumbledore. His body, thin and wiry before the Ministry hearing, was now much more solid and muscular. He looked as if he'd spent the past four months exercising and lifting weights — not at all like a man who had just stepped out of his own grave.

Harry looked up at them. His facial features had changed as well — he was more mature-looking, more handsome, than his earlier self had been. "So, what have I missed?" he asked, casually, as if he'd merely stepped out of the room for a moment, instead of spending four months buried in a graveyard in Godric's Hollow. "It's colder now, so obviously some time has gone by. I suppose we could start with how I ended up _dead_ —" he smiled, wryly, shaking his head "— at the end of that hearing.

"I also need to talk to Connell," Harry mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, before either of them could reply. "I didn't think it would take so long for me to come back from being dead — in fact, I thought he meant that I couldn't even be _killed_ while I had the Star Brand. But that's obviously not true."

"Don't you _remember_?" Hermione asked, shocked. "Harry, you don't _have_ the Star Brand any more!"

"Of course I do," Harry grinned, holding up his right hand, palm out toward her. "Look."

His palm was bare. Hermione shook her head. "It's not there," she said, insistently. "Have a look." Harry glanced at his palm, frowning in surprise when he saw there was nothing there.

"I still feel it," he said, almost to himself, touching his palm. "I can still feel the power, inside me. Maybe it's on some other part of my body —" a wardrobe divider appeared between them and Harry, hiding him from view for several moments. Flashes of light came from behind the wardrobe as Harry's clothes vanished and reappeared, searching for the Brand on his body.

"I don't understand," he muttered, as the wardrobe disappeared again. He was dressed in the T-shirt and jeans again, but his trainers were gone. He looked at the soles of his feet, one at a time, shaking his head. "It has to be _somewhere_!"

"Do you recall what happened after you left the Ministry, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, quietly, as socks and trainers appeared back on Harry's feet.

"Some of it," Harry answered, rubbing one of his temples, trying to remember. "Mr. Weasley and I talked to Lucius Malfoy for a few moments. He was with Fudge — they were going to his office to discuss 'private matters' — Mr. Weasley thought it would be about money.

"We were going to go back to Grimmauld Place, but Mr. Weasley wanted to stop by the Burrow on the way there, to help Mrs. Weasley with something. She was…happy to see me," he recalled, looking uncertainly at Dumbledore and Hermione.

"Do you remember what you did next?" Dumbledore pressed him.

"It — gets fuzzier," Harry's brow furrowed as he tried hard to remember. "I was talking to — to Ginny, I think. And drinking some tea she'd gotten me. And… I — I don't know…" he said at last. "I should be able to remember!" He looked up at Dumbledore, his expression full of apprehension and doubt. "I think…I…touched something…"

"Do you remember what it was, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, calmly.

"It was — it was…uh, Ginny's boob, I think," Harry stammered, at last.

"You _think_?" Hermione said, archly. "You don't remember _that_?"

"There was something wrong —" Harry began.

"Well, I should think so!" Hermione snapped, but Dumbledore raised a finger, forestalling her outburst.

"Hermione, I think Harry means something other than inappropriate touching," the headmaster said thoughtfully, though his blue eyes were twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Harry," he continued, "think very carefully. Do you remember anything unusual when you were drinking the tea?"

Harry considered for a time. "I don't know," he said at last. "I sort of remember thinking it smelled funny, somehow."

"Can you remember in what way it smelled funny?"

Harry shook his head. Delving back into these memories was harder than it appeared. Did it have something to do with him losing the Star Brand? If he still had that, Harry thought, he could simply imagine that he remembered everything that had happened at the Weasley house —

And suddenly, he did. "Oh!" Harry said, his head snapping up, his eyes wide as he recalled everything that had occurred there.

"What is it, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, seeing the change in his demeanor.

"I remember it all," Harry said. "Ginny put Amortentia in the tea, then tricked me into closing my eyes and transferring the Star Brand to Voldemort's head, pretending it was on her chest."

"And you _fell_ for that?" Hermione said, wide-eyed with astonishment.

"Give me a break!" Harry snapped. "I didn't know I'd been dosed with love potion!"

"So Voldemort is alive again, and has the Star Brand," Dumbledore said, his worst fears confirmed.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Well, fuck."

"Harry, please do not use that word," Dumbledore said, mildly.

"Sorry," Harry shrugged, "but what else can I say? At least I still seem to have some of the Star Brand power left in me, if I can still imagine things and make them come true."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore suggested, "if you were to extract the relevant memories, we could examine them in my Pensieve. Studying them from an objective viewpoint may help us come up with some way to combat Voldemort. We may also find out why you still have a remnant of that power."

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore retrieved the large, stone bowl from his black cabinet, placing it on his desk. "Harry, if you would place the memory into the Pensieve, please?"

Harry reached up to touch his temple, rubbing it once again. This time, however, a silver thread appeared between his fingertips, and he tugged gently at it, extracting more of the silvery material, then held his hand over the bowl and let it settle into the swirling contents of the bowl, mingling with it. Dumbledore nodded, and the three of them bent their faces close to the surface of the silvery material, until the tips of their noses touched it.

There was the sensation of being pulled forward into the Pensieve and falling through darkness, until the three of them landed next to the image of Harry standing with Ginny, in her room in the Burrow. They watched as she returned with the tea and Harry drank, then the conversation that followed, with Harry squirming uncomfortably as Hermione and Professor Dumbledore observing his fatuous behavior under the Amortentia potion.

As Ginny led him, his eyes closed, toward her bed, she pointed toward the pillows at its head and from beneath them Voldemort's head rose, silently, and floated into her left hand, which she held in front of her, then placed Harry's right hand on its forehead. She smiled as he transferred the Brand to Voldemort, then pushed him away, leaping onto her bed as she drew her wand and pointed it at him.

"So Ginny has been under the Imperius Curse since then," Hermione said, her voice almost a whisper. "I _knew_ it! But Ron wouldn't hear of it!"

"What's been happening?" Harry asked, concerned.

"Ginny, Fred and George have all been acting, well, out of sorts, I suppose you could say," Hermione explained. "Professor Dumbledore warned Ron and some of us that there were discrepancies between what Mr. and Mrs. Weasley said about being at the Burrow when it burned up —"

"The Burrow _burned up_?!" Harry exclaimed, but then subsided. "Oh, that's right — Voldemort destroyed me with fire, didn't he?"

"_Fiendfyre_, in fact," Dumbledore amplified. "Though it did not completely destroy your body, as it normally does. But the Burrow was reduced to ashes — only a few stones, near the outer edge of the blaze, were spared."

"What happened to the Weasleys?" Harry wanted to know.

"Arthur and Molly are now living at number twelve, Grimmauld Place," Dumbledore told him. I have asked Sirius and Remus to keep me informed of any of their activities, and of any potential attempts to isolate the younger Weasley children. I have also appraised Bill and Charlie of the situation as well."

Harry nodded, satisfied things were covered. Then his features hardened. "What's Voldemort been up to?" he asked.

"Nothing, apparently," Dumbledore replied. "Voldemort has not been seen nor heard from since his return at the Burrow. Many of his followers are being watched, either by the Ministry or by the Order, but a number of them have disappeared completely from the Wizarding community."

"Disappeared?" Harry repeated. "Do you mean, like I 'disappeared'?"

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "In your case there was clear evidence of your murder. In theirs, they have simply removed themselves, and no longer walk among us. In itself, this is not remarkable, since witches and wizards often go on long journeys, singly or in small groups, called 'Grand Tours,' though this had become more of a post-matriculation exercise by the turn of the twentieth century."

"Huh?" Harry said, not understanding, then "Oh," as Hermione explained that "matriculation" meant "attending school." "You don't think these Death Eaters did anything like that," he guessed.

"No," the headmaster said, "though a few of them tried to make it appear so, either leaving notice with the Ministry of their departure, or making arrangements with Gringotts for remote withdrawal of their gold."

"So, where are they now?"

"We do not know," Dumbledore shrugged. "But in a sense, my concern is more about Voldemort than his followers. My primary line of investigation, since your apparent death, Harry, has been to locate either Voldemort, or the person responsible for giving you the Star Brand in the first place, Kenneth Connell.

"The second is a continuation of my efforts to locate Voldemort's Horcruxes, aided by select members of the Order. This issue, however, was a mere contingency, since Voldemort, in possession of the Star Brand, as I assumed he was, may believe himself to be immortal, as you did, Harry."

"I have to ask this, then," Hermione broke in. "If Harry no longer has the Star Brand, how was he restored to life?"

"I thought I _did_ have it, when I woke up," Harry shrugged.

"But that wouldn't have been sufficient to bring you back to life, Harry," she argued. "If people could just wish they had the power to come back to life, there'd be a lot more people alive today!"

"I believe I can answer that," Dumbledore said. "And it is due, in part, to Voldemort himself." At Harry and Hermione's quizzical looks, he elaborated, "when Voldemort had Peter Pettigrew perform the spell that restored him to life last June, he used Harry's blood as one of the ingredients. Again, a moment of arrogance that worked to his detriment. By binding the two of you through your blood, Harry, he became an anchor for you in the living world, and at the same time unknowingly released the portion of his soul trapped inside you, when he destroyed your body using _Fiendfyre_."

Harry reached up to his forehead. "A portion of his _soul_?" he said, repulsed by the thought. "Is that why my scar —" he stopped, suddenly, and stared at them in amazement. "It's gone!" he said, lifting his bangs. "Look!"

With the hair covering his forehead pushed back, they both saw the lightning scar that had been on Harry's forehead for the past fourteen years was no longer there.

"Incredible!" Hermione cried, excitedly. "It must have disappeared when your body regenerated, inside the coffin!"

"But how would my body have regenerated without the Star Brand?" Harry blurted.

Dumbledore shook his head. "That I cannot say, Harry, but that does underscore my primary line of investigation, which Miss Granger here has been helping me with. I have asked her to read several newspapers and periodicals, with an eye toward finding any indication of activities by either Voldemort or Connell."

"I was going through some papers earlier tonight," Hermione mentioned to Harry. "Just before Professor Dumbledore asked me to accompany him to Godric's Hollow, to visit your grave. I'm very glad now I went with him."

"I am, too," Harry smiled at her, and she blushed. "Do you mind if I have a look at what you've read?"

Hermione looked toward the door of the Dumbledore's office. "Well, the latest stuff I was reading is in the common room, but —"

"No," Harry interrupted gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "May I touch your mind, to see everything you've seen in your reading so far?"

"You can do that?" Hermione's eyes widened in wonder.

"I believe so," Harry nodded. "For whatever reason, my body still feels like I have the Star Brand." He closed his eyes for a moment, and Hermione suddenly swayed, nearly falling until Harry steadied her.

"Sorry," he said, letting her go, as she recovered, holding her head. "It seemed easier when I read the thoughts of the Wizengamot members. Maybe I haven't fully gotten over being in that box, yet."

"It's okay," Hermione said, waving off his apology, though her head was throbbing from whatever Harry had done.

Harry was quiet for several moments, going over information he had gleaned from Hermione's mind. It was Christmas Day, he'd learned; over four months had passed since the hearing at the Ministry — four months for Voldemort to plan whatever it was he was going to do, though inexplicably, he had seemed to vanish completely rather than declare himself ruler of the Earth, which the Star Brand's power would have made it simple for him to do.

Instead, all the news items Hermione had gathered over the past four months showed no Death Eater activity, not even an increase in Muggle-baiting activity, a perennial pastime of less enlightened wizard-kind. It was as if Voldemort and his Death Eaters had vanished off the face of the planet, which was possible but surely not Voldemort's style. Dumbledore had realized that as well, of course; that was why he was having Hermione read all the different wizarding and Muggle newspapers and periodical, to try and determine what he was up to.

In all of the reading Hermione had done, Harry also realized that much of it had been articles in the wizarding literature about Harry himself, something Dumbledore _hadn't_ asked her to do. She had missed him terribly while he was gone, Harry realized, and had withdrawn from many of her other friends as she immersed herself in her task. She'd even gone so far as to pick a fight with Ron, just before the Christmas break, so she wouldn't have to go back to the Burrow with him. Now she believed that he had returned to the living, at least in part, to be with her.

In fact, that idea wasn't unappealing to Harry, but it also wasn't something he could handle right now, what with Voldemort now in possession of the Star Brand and representing a danger to every living person on Earth, not just wizard-kind. He would have to be careful not to give her any encouragement about there being anything between them.

"Some interesting stuff, there," Harry said, keeping his voice businesslike. "When did Pius Thicknesse become a citizen of the Netherlands?"

That caught Dumbledore's interest. "He resigned his position in the Ministry several months ago, just after Rufus Scrimgeour, along with several other Ministry members. It seems unlikely that he would leave Wizarding society altogether for a position in a Muggle government, however," Dumbledore finished.

"I was just reading that article earlier this evening," Hermione added. "It said he had been nominated for the position of Secretary-General of the United Nations due to the unexpected death of the current Secretary. He's expected to be elected; the only uncertainty is whether the United States would veto him, because of their new President."

"_Their_ new President?" Harry repeated. He searched the information he'd absorbed from Hermione. "Oh, I see. _Another_ accident involving an important political figure — the President of the United States was killed when his plane, Air Force One, crashed in a freak accident in October. The Vice President assumed office and appointed someone from their Senate to be the new Vice President."

"It was a bad time," Hermione said, "but not much notice of it was taken in England, and certainly almost no one in the wizarding world paid much attention to it."

Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Has there been any follow-up on these items, Professor?"

"I have discussed the various resignations with Order members," Dumbledore said, a tinge of impatience in his voice at being questioned so closely. "We have considered sending someone from the Order, perhaps Miss Tonks, on a mission to determine whether Thicknesse has been cursed or is acting on his own. It may also be prudent to examine the American President and Vice-President as well, but such a mission must undertaken with the utmost discretion —"

"I can handle that," Harry said, and vanished, even as Dumbledore started to raise a hand, to stop him.

"Oh, drat," Dumbledore muttered. "Sometimes, I fear Harry's impulsiveness can be quite exasperating."

"Tell me about it," Hermione said.

***

Harry appeared a moment later in a darkened bedroom in The Hague, the current location of Pius Thicknesse, the first stop on Harry's itinerary this Christmas morning. Magical protections were set up in and around the room, but Harry had imagined himself transparent to all such enchantments; none of them could detect him. His eyes, enhanced to see in near-total darkness, easily discerned the wizard, asleep in his king-sized bed. There was also a woman in bed with Thicknesse —his wife, Harry assumed, but it didn't matter — he had no business with her. Though his examination of Thickness would take only a few seconds, Harry removed her to another, empty bedroom, in case something unexpected happened.

Harry walked to the bed and stood silently over the former Ministry official, now pretending to be a Muggle — _that must surely gall a pureblood like him_, Harry thought. He touched Thicknesse's shoulder, drawing images and memories from the wizard's mind into his. Thicknesse moaned and twitched, and Harry realized that, without the Star Brand his mental incursions must lack fine control — he must've hurt Hermione as well, when he read her mind, he thought, though she hadn't complained. Well, it wasn't as if he cared much how much he hurt Thicknesse, as long as he remembered the experience as nothing more than a bad dream.

Thicknesse was under the Imperius Curse, but Voldemort's plans weren't far from his own desires for Muggle-kind — it was only that the former official lacked the will, the drive, and of course, the power to bring about such changes in the world. Documents and records had been magically altered, showing Thicknesse as a natural citizen of the Netherlands and giving a detailed but completely fabricated history of his life here. The woman who'd been asleep next to him was an actual citizen of the Netherlands, born and raised here, but her memories had been changed so she believed herself married to Thicknesse, as part of his cover. Various other people in his memories had been reprogrammed as well, to remember him from a past that had never occurred.

It didn't take Harry long to see that Thicknesse was a pawn; he knew only that the Dark Lord wished him to occupy a position of power in Muggle government, and while he believed himself a valuable asset in his plan of world domination, he did not even understand how that was to be brought about. It gave Thicknesse enough satisfaction to be a follower in the plan for control of the world, if not a leader. From his standpoint, it was also safer.

Harry sighed inwardly. There was nothing more he could learn here — Thicknesse was not a part of Voldemort's inner circle — he was just a cog in the machine, playing only a minor role in whatever the Dark Lord was up to. He withdrew from Thicknesse's mind, returning the woman to the bed, wishing he could free her from the false front that had been imposed on her, but for now, there must be no trace of his visit. Harry disappeared from the room.

The next leg of Harry's journey was much longer; He appeared in the dawning skies over Washington, D.C., several thousand feet above the American White House. He floated for a moment, disoriented and weak, but the sensation passed after a few seconds. That was the furthest he'd ever traveled at one time. _There might be limits to what I can do_, Harry thought, _without the Star Brand in my possession_. When he had the Brand, everything he did had come effortlessly, limited only by his imagination. Now, it seemed, he was no longer omnipotent.

Harry examined the layout of the White House below closely, locating the private residences of the President and Vice-President. The President, as he remembered from the pictures in the articles Hermione had read, was a tall, dark-haired man who might've resembled an older Harry if he wore round glasses (and if his hair was a bit messier).

Interestingly, there _were_ magical protections, even though both the President and Vice-President were supposed to be Muggles, but there was nothing Harry couldn't handle; just some personal wards around the President's and VP's offices and residences that would send out warnings when magical folk were nearby. It was morning here, almost time for the day to begin. He would have to be quick about this…

An intuition warned Harry to scan the President's room again before he entered, this time with the _Homenum Revelio_ spell, and it showed positive — there was someone else in the President's bedroom! He had detected two wizards, stationed in corners of the room, probably Disillusioned, as well as the President and his wife, who were both asleep in bed.

The question was, where they there _protecting_ the President, or _guarding_ him? The President was a Muggle, his scan had shown, as was his wife, and Harry wondered if it was more the latter than the former. Whatever they were there for, it wasn't going to stop him from paying a visit. Harry made himself invisible to the protection spells in the room, then invisible to the guards, and vanished from the skies over D.C., reappearing in the room between the two men. A moment later both guards were stunned and immobilized by Harry's power. He left them standing in their corners, frozen and unconscious — the Stunners would wear off in an hour or so, as would the Body-Bind Curses, and they'd be left wondering how they'd fallen asleep standing up.

He approached the bed and made sure the blonde-haired woman who lay next to the President would remain asleep — there was nowhere to move her, anyway, with as many Muggle guards as he had detected throughout this part of the White House guarding the corridors. Harry then laid a hand on the shoulder of the dark-haired President. The man moaned in pain as knowledge flooded Harry's brain.

He had been Imperiused as well, Harry discovered, and was being kept highly controlled by regular applications of the spell by the man who was now Vice-President. That person, Harry learned from the President's mind, had been the junior senator from the state of Connecticut. His history in the government went back a long way, and Harry realized that the man sleeping in the Vice-President's quarters was probably not the Muggle the President remembered. The President knew nothing of Voldemort's plan — he knew only that there were important steps that must be taken to protect the security of the country and the safety of its people, and that he, the President, should trust the Vice-President's wise counsel. Harry released his mind and vanished from the room, reappearing next to the Vice-President's bed.

The Vice-President was sleeping alone. Unlike the President, there were no wizard guards stationed in the room. He reached for the man's shoulder, but as he touched the sleeping form, there were several soft _whooshes_, and before Harry could turn, several magically-propelled blades penetrated his body. At the same time, the form he had touched dissolved beneath his hand, and something invisible rolled off the bed. Ignoring the metal penetrating his flesh, Harry imagined his vision could see into the infrared, to track whoever was in the room with him.

The Vice-President was standing across the room from him, in a defensive pose, pointing a wand at Harry. Harry concentrated for a moment and the blades transfixing him vanished. He then healed the damage to his body. They had been painful, but compared to the Cruciatus Curse Voldemort had used on him last June, they had been no more than a minor inconvenience. While he was thinking of it, Harry imagined himself impervious to any further physical assault.

"You can drop the Disillusionment Charm," Harry said evenly, staring directly at the invisible wizard. "I know where you are."

The wizard appeared, still pointing his wand at Harry. "Who are you?" he asked, tensely. "Why are you here? Have you been sent to test me?"

"Silence!" Harry snapped commandingly. The wizard hadn't recognized him. He could use that to his advantage, he hoped. "I'll ask the questions here. Drop your disguise, and be quick about it — we don't have much time."

The wizard didn't lower his wand. "Give the password!" he demanded.

"_Lord_ _Voldemort_," Harry replied. It had been in the mind of the President, who'd known it in case he had to wake the Vice-President for some emergency. It was the perfect password, too — no one would expect Death Eaters to use the Name in such a way.

The wizard hesitated a moment, perhaps disarmed by Harry's quick response to his challenge, then nodded and tapped himself with his wand. Immediately his features began to flow and change, until the Vice-President's features and form returned to the image of — Rufus Scrimgeour. Harry hid his surprise — Scrimgeour had been a top Ministry official — he was nearly picked for Minister of Magic, and only barely edged out by Amelia Bones! Had he joined Voldemort before or after he left? Scrimgeour's demeanor also changed dramatically, along with his appearance. "Forgive me, my lord!" he said, bowing low before Harry. "A thousand apologies! I followed all of your instructions to ensure that no one attempted to impersonate you!"

This was running a bigger bluff than Harry had counted on. Did Scrimgeour think that he, Harry, was Lord Voldemort? He looked nothing like the Dark Lord! But now was not the time to argue whether Scrimgeour was right or wrong about his identity. "I will overlook your tone this time, Scrimgeour," he said, trying to emulate Voldemort's attitude and mannerisms. "You have performed…adequately."

"Thank you, Master!" Scrimgeour bowed again, almost groveling. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence, my lord?"

"Just — making sure of my preparations," Harry said, trying to say something that sounded plausibly Voldemort-like. "Give me... your … status." It was the first thing he could think of.

Scrimgeour nodded, slowly. "Yes, m-my lord. The President has been discussing certain sensitive issues with the European Union, including France, Greece and Romania, as well as the Russia Federation and the People's Republic of China. Special emissaries have been dispatched and are currently in negotiations with the leadership of those countries.

"When will we see some results?" Harry tried to sound impatient, the way he had seen Voldemort act in the graveyard in Little Hangleton.

"Soon, my lord," Scrimgeour said quickly. "_Very_ soon! Avery is on his way to Greece — he will bring the President there under our control, and we will install one of our men as the Prime Minister afterwards. After we do the same in Russia and China, we will be in control of the United Nations Security Council. Then, we may bring your plan to completion!"

Harry nodded, thinking rapidly. He couldn't simply _ask_ Scrimgeour to repeat his plan back to him — that would raise too much suspicion. Indeed, Scrimgeour would have to forget this entire conversation. He gestured to the Death Eater to approach him. "Come here. Rufus — you have done well in controlling the American president," he said, reaching out a hand toward the Death Eater, who walked forward slowly.

Scrimgeour winced as Harry touched him. There was no Imperius Curse here, Harry quickly realized, but something even deeper — Voldemort must have used the Star Brand power to make Scrimgeour totally loyal to him. But before he could learn more than a few scraps of information from the former Ministry official's mind, a keening wail like a banshee's scream pierced Harry's mind, and he broke contact, covering his ears. The sound went on, however, inside his head, and Harry gasped, unable to think as the unearthly wail clouded his mind.

Scrimgeour stepped back and redrew his wand. "So it _is_ you, Connell!" he rasped, pressing the tip of his wand against his left forearm. "Now you'll have the Dark Lord himself to deal with!" There was no Dark Mark on Scrimgeour's forearm, but the gesture was unmistakable.

Harry heard none of this — the banshee's wail filling his brain had drowned out all other input. Touching Scrimgeour had set off a trap, and he had fallen for it! But he saw, through the haze of pain of his overloaded senses, the gesture Scrimgeour had made, and he knew who that would bring. He fought back against the wailing in his head, willing it to silence. At that same moment, there was a flash of light, and Voldemort appeared. But it was not the Voldemort Harry had expected.

He saw now why Scrimgeour had believed he had been the Dark Lord — the man who had just appeared in the room was not the white-skinned death's mask who had emerged from the cauldron in the Little Hangleton graveyard, with glowing red eyes and lipless, snakelike mouth. Even so, Harry recognized him immediately — this was Tom Riddle reborn. Tall, handsome, with smooth hair, darker than Harry remembered from the Riddle of the diary, he looked quickly around the room, hesitating only a moment when he saw Harry — they might have been twins, so similar were their forms.

"CONNELL!" Riddle roared, and a blast of white energy erupted from his outstretched hand toward Harry. Only the fact that Harry was already moving sideways, trying to disappear and discovering he couldn't, kept the bolt from striking him — Riddle had invoked some kind of ward or effect that was preventing him from vanishing! The wall behind Harry was blasted away as he spun to one side. With Riddle in possession of the Star Brand, Harry couldn't hope to win against him — he'd _seen_ it, in the palm of Riddle's right hand as it extended toward him.

Seeing the wall behind him explode gave Harry an idea. He sent a blast back toward the Dark wizard, but aimed low, at the floor. The floor vaporized beneath Riddle, who plummeted through it, cursing. Even as Riddle fell out of view, Harry looked up, through the floors above him, and saw no one between him and the sky. He flew straight up, blasting through the roof of the White House and into the morning sky, accelerating hard to put distance between him and Riddle. In seconds the sky above him had gone from blue to black; he'd flown out of the atmosphere. Hoping he'd passed outside the influence of the dampening effect on his teleportation ability, Harry imagined himself back at Hogwarts, and disappeared.

A moment later he was back in Dumbledore's office, and he slumped to the floor, spent. "Harry!" Hermione cried, rushing over to where he had fallen. "What's happened to you!"

"Fought… Voldemort…" Harry gasped, looking up at Dumbledore, who returned his gaze with grave concern. "Too powerful… I couldn't — couldn't match him."

"Well, of course not," Hermione said, plaintively, looking up at Dumbledore as well. "He has the Star Brand, after all."

"I do not believe that is the reason _per se_ why Harry can't match him, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. He knelt down beside Harry. "Harry has said he believed he still possessed the Star Brand when he awoke, earlier this evening. Perhaps this Star Brand has permanently changed Harry in some way." Dumbledore took Harry by the shoulders, looking at him intensely. "Harry, will Voldemort be able to locate you using the Star Brand?"  
Harry's eyes widened. "Yes," he said, through gritted teeth. "Damn it! I didn't think of that! I need to leave, right now —" He tried to rise, but Dumbledore kept him from standing. "Professor, let me go — I can't stay here…"

"Harry," Dumbledore said, quietly, "you do not have the strength to leave, if you cannot even prevent me from holding you down."

"That's my doing, Headmaster," another voice spoke, and Dumbledore, Harry and Hermione all turned to see Kenneth Connell standing behind them. "And don't worry about this Voldemort character — for now, I am preventing him from locating either me or Harry."

He walked over to Harry's side and knelt down beside him, opposite Dumbledore. Placing his hand on Harry's chest, Connell concentrated for a moment, and white light blazed from beneath his palm. Harry jerked as if he'd been hit with an electric shock, then sat up, looking at Connell in amazement. "What did you do?" he asked. "Did you —"

"No," Connell spoke over him. "I did not return my half of the Star Brand to you, Harry." He held up his hand, showing them the Brand, still on his palm. "I simply replaced the energy you had expended in your recent trips to the Netherlands and to America. Yes," he nodded, at Harry's look. "I also read your mind again — my apologies once more for the intrusion, but it was simpler than having you recount your adventures."

Connell turned to Hermione and Dumbledore, addressing them as well. "The Star Brand permanently changes everyone who possesses it, giving them the ability to make anything they can imagine into reality. The Star Brand itself is an energy conduit — it gives the possessor access to nearly limitless energy. Without the Star Brand to draw upon this energy, however, it is possible to overextend yourself and run out of reserves. That is what has happened to Harry; I restored the energy he expended, bringing him back to full power. He will need it, if we are to defeat this Voldemort."

He stood and held out a hand to Harry, who took it, pulling himself to his feet, and Dumbledore and Hermione rose to their feet as well. "Is he formulating a plan to take over the world?" Dumbledore asked, tensely.

"Of course," Connell said. "His kind always thinks in absolutes, and small-mindedly. "I wish now that I had not left Earth so abruptly, or that I had warned Harry that the power of the Star Brand does not automatically protect against mental attack or manipulation. This Voldemort was able to take over part of Harry's mind and trick him into believing absurdities. Fortunately, if you want to call it that, placing the Star Brand on Voldemort's Horcrux-enchanted head was less disastrous than if he had placed it on one that was actually dead."

"You told me that something very bad would happen," Harry said to Connell. "But you've never said what it actually would_ do_."

"Without the control of a sentient mind, all the power of the Star Brand would be released at once," Connell told him, curtly. "Everything within about fifty miles would have instantly vaporized. The exotic radiation would have mutated many living things within several hundred miles.

"It happened to me, once," Connell said, his eyes seeming to focus on something only he could see, as his mind drifted back. "It happened thousands of years ago in my subjective memory, but I remember it vividly. I had been traveling through intergalactic space, toward the galaxy I then thought was the Milky Way. However, it was really the Andromeda galaxy, and I could find no sign of intelligent life. I finally landed on a planet that seemed especially Earth-like, and wondered whether I should end my journey there.

"I had no reason to return to Earth," Connell said, with an unconscious shrug. "I believed my girlfriend was dead at the hands of aliens, and I had been flung millions of light-years from my home. What would I be going home to, I asked myself. Everyone and everything I knew would be long-dead by the time I got back. I resolved to stay, to create a New Earth with the power of the Star Brand, and to live out my life in peace."

Harry, Hermione and Dumbledore were all listening with rapt attention. "With the power to do anything, I quickly figured out how to create buildings, streets, power plants, water plants, and all the other comforts of civilization. I built up entire continents of empty cities, spread across that world, vast regions of farmland and pasture, and filled them all with animals I remembered from Earth — deer and other game, and predators in the wilderness, cattle, pigs and chicken in the farms and pastures, and birds and squirrels in the cities.

"And when all the cities were build, all the utilities humming along efficiently and self-sufficiently, I added the crowing achievement — people. I created thousands of beings to populate those cities — farmers and ranchers for the rural areas, every kind of person I could think of — each one with his own life, his own history, and each one believing that he was real and whole, not a creation of my mind and the Star Brand's power."

Harry stared at Connell, shocked to silence, then looked at Hermione. She was equally shocked. Dumbledore's expression was one of placid acceptance. "It is natural," he said to Connell, "to desire the company of others — sometimes, even if you know they are mere illusions. I understand your desire…"

"I wish I had," Connell said, flatly. "I might have avoided what I brought down upon myself, eventually." He looked back at Harry. "I had no one to tell me how the Star Brand worked, what I should and shouldn't do with it. After all the time I spent creating that world — certainly more than six days! — I wanted to set the power aside, to live in peace on the world I'd created, no longer a hero, or a wanted criminal — not even as some kind of god. I just wanted to be a _man_ again.

"I had set up an apartment in the largest city I'd built. I wanted some peace, some tranquility, without worrying about the power that had so taken over my life. I picked up a trinket in my apartment, a picture of Maddy, and transferred the Star Brand to it."

"Oh, no!" Hermione gasped, realizing the implication of that action.

Connell nodded heavily. "Everything for fifty miles around me vaporized in a white fireball. Including me — without the Star Brand's additional protection, I was as susceptible to damage as everything around me, once my own reserves of energy were depleted."

Harry and Dumbledore looked at each other, both of them imagining something similar happening to London. It was unthinkable.

"How could you have recovered from that?" Dumbledore asked, ever inquisitive. "And wouldn't the Brand itself have been lost in such an explosion?"

"I think the Star Brand fundamentally changes anyone it touches," Connell said. "It makes them immortal, if not completely indestructible. While it's part of you, it can channel enough energy to keep your body intact under almost any condition — I've never been defeated while I've had it — but even vaporized to atoms, I retained some consciousness, and I desired to 'pull myself together,' so to speak, to understand what had happened to me.

"I do not know how long it took, but I eventually found myself alive again, and whole, more or less, in a pool of noxious liquid near the bottom of the crater created by that explosion. The Star Brand was still with me, somehow — I found it on the back of my thigh — and I flew up, out of that crater, to see what damage that had been caused." Connell shook his head, not wanting to remember. "I found horrors beyond imagining — people and animals had mutated weirdly and grotesquely, I could not bear to look upon them, they were so vile. They had spread away from the crater — the "Pit," I called it, it was like the pit of Hell to me! — and were attacking any other animals or people they could find."

"What did you do?" Harry asked.

"I managed to stop the largest mutations from spreading," Connell said, his eyes closed, as if shutting out his vision could push them from his memory. "But once the attacks on the cities stopped, and the people there had developed defenses for the smaller creatures, I left again, for home."  
"You left all those people there?" Hermione cried, appalled.

"What would you have had me do?" Connell looked at her. "Kill them? Return them to the dust of the planet?" Hermione said nothing. "I had played God, and I had failed, nearly bringing Armageddon to my New Earth. I left them in peace, to their new lives, and resolved to play God no more."

"You may have done so once more, however," Dumbledore pointed out. "And in so doing, opened the gates of Hell as well."

Connell looked at him, pain in his eyes. "I know."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"Voldemort," Dumbledore said, "has the Star Brand. Based upon what Mr. Connell has told us, he is now fundamentally changed, just as you and he are, Harry. Even if you wrest the Star Brand away from him, he is now immortal, just as you both are, and that can never be changed." He looked at Connell. "Can it?"

"Not unless the Star Brand itself was destroyed," Connell said. "And I believe that to be impossible."

"Thus," Dumbledore concluded. "We have quite a problem on our hands."

"Well," Harry said, offering his own opinion on the matter. "Fuck."


	6. Expose

The Potter Brand

Chapter 6

"Exposé"

Harry opened his eyes. He'd fallen asleep, which he found surprising — he didn't think he would ever sleep again after waking up in a coffin in the cemetery at Godric's Hollow yesterday. There was daylight streaming in through the windows of Professor Dumbledore's office. The last he remembered, from the evening before, it had still been dark. How much time had passed since then, he wondered.

Harry sat up and looked around. He was lying on a divan nestled between two bookcases of the many that lined the walls of the office. Professor Dumbledore was at his desk, his long-fingered hands folded in his lap. He appeared to be dozing. Harry also saw Kenneth Connell, who had folded himself into one of the old, comfortable plush chintz chairs in front of the headmaster's desk. The other person who'd been with them last night, Hermione Granger, was no longer in the room, though Harry could sense her presence within the castle — she had probably gone to her dormitory to sleep or freshen up. It was Christmas Day, Harry remembered, if he hadn't already slept through it.

Harry felt Connell's eyes on him, and turned to look at him, but Connell didn't react — he seemed withdrawn and lost in thought; he sat, completely motionless, as Harry continued to watch him. After a minute, however, Connell's eyes appeared to focus once again; he sat up with a small start, gave him a nod and murmured, "Good morning. Did you sleep well, Harry?"

Harry nodded. He did feel rested, in fact, and more alert than last night. "Yeah. A bit surprised I went to sleep, though."

Connell grunted and gave a curt nod. "That was my doing, actually."

Harry looked at him, nonplussed. "_You_ made me go to sleep?" Connell nodded again. "What for? I don't remember being _that_ tired. Blimey, Connell, I've been _dead_ for nearly four months — d'you think I'd want to fall asleep again right away after that?!"

"I knew you wouldn't, Harry. But Dumbledore and Hermione needed to sleep," Connell told him. "And so did you. I felt that way, too, after I woke up in the Pit. I didn't ever want to go to sleep again — I forced myself to stay away for days afterward, destroying the mutations that had sprung up around that hellhole.

"But your mind _needs_ to sleep, even if your body doesn't get tired any more, I found out. After a couple of weeks I was starting to hallucinate, and for a while I couldn't tell reality from my own delusions. I finally blacked out for a day or two, and when I woke up I realized I needed to spend some time asleep each day, to let my mind rest." Connell waved a hand at his own head. "Better to spend an hour or so each day letting your brain sort stuff out, than going slowly insane."

"I'll have to remember that," Harry said, getting up off the divan. He began to pace restlessly, a habit he'd unconsciously picked up from Sirius. "So, when are we going after Voldemort?"

"Soon, I'm sure," Connell replied, watching him pace. "We're waiting for him to make a move — poking your nose into his carefully-laid plans rattled his cage quite a bit, I think."

Harry stopped pacing and looked at Connell, remembering the confrontation he'd just had with the once-again handsome Voldemort. "He thought I was you, for some reason," he told the tall, blond-haired man. "But he looks more like _me_ now than you — why would he be confused about who I was?"

"I've been back on Earth about a month, now," Connell said, leaning forward in his chair. He was acting normal now, less withdrawn than earlier, as he brought Harry up-to-date on what he'd been doing. "I was checking out the alien situation in the vicinity, seeing if there was any sign, and I wanted to try out that Apparition trick you showed me once."

"What d'you mean by, 'the vicinity'?" Harry asked. He was pretty sure Ken meant something other than a trip to Dover.

"Oh — Alpha Centauri, a few of the nearby star systems," Ken shrugged. "Really useful trick, too — I wish I'd been more interested in science fiction stuff when I was younger, I could've used that teleporting trick to get home a _lot_ quicker. Though I suppose I would have ended up a million years or so in the past if I had."

"Are you saying you Apparated to another _star system_?" Harry asked, disbelievingly.

"Sure," Connell replied, grinning. "It was pretty easy to imagine, once I saw how you did it."

Harry shook his head, his mind in a daze. "That's unbelievable…"

Connell nodded. "Yeah, that's about how I felt when I got back and started looking for you. I couldn't locate your presence anywhere around Earth, so I looked up the Professor here —" he jerked his head toward the still-sleeping form of Dumbledore, snoring softly at his desk. "Well, imagine my surprise when he told me you were _dead_, and this evil wizard, Voldemort, the one you thought you'd killed, now had the Star Brand!"

"Yeah, that surprised the hell out of me, too," Harry said darkly, unhappily recalling that memory. "What was even more surprising was that I was aware I was surprised, somehow."

"Your headmaster wanted me to help that underground group he runs, that 'Order of the Phoenix,' to find this Voldemort character and stop him." Connell rubbed the side of his face, looking at Dumbledore. "When I told him we should wait until you returned to life, he didn't seem to believe that could or would happen."

"Because raising the dead is impossible," Harry said, automatically.

"Yeah, supposedly," Connell shrugged. "But this Voldemort survived a spell that blasted his body into nothingness."

"Because of —"

"The Horcruxes," the large, blond man finished for him. "Oh, yeah," he grinned, as Harry blinked in surprise. "I know all about them. I've been learning about magic while waiting for you to return. Though if I'd known it was going to take you _that_ long, Harry, I might have come around and given you a boost out of that grave."

"Why didn't you?" Harry wanted to know.

"Dumbledore didn't want me to disturb your remains," Connell replied. "I don't know if it was more a matter of respect, or curiosity on his part."

"It was a bit of both," a deep voice replied from behind the headmaster's desk; both Harry and Connell turned to see Albus Dumbledore, now awake, peering at them over his half-moon spectacles. "Harry had been killed by Fiendfyre, the most dangerous and uncontrollable type of cursed magical fire, which normally burns everything it touches to ashes.

"Yet his skeleton and some charred bits of flesh were left after the fire died out. That was most unexpected, and I confess — and please pardon me, Harry, if I seem to be speaking rather callously about you in your presence! — I confess I was intrigued when you told me you expected Harry to survive that ordeal, Kenneth."

"I had survived something similar myself," Ken said, matter-of-factly, "when I tried to place the Brand on an inanimate object, and ended up vaporized, along with everything within fifty miles of me."

"Which you related to us last night," Dumbledore added.

"Right. Anyway," Ken went on, turning back to Harry. "While you were busy regenerating your body in Godric's Hollow, I took the opportunity to educate myself on magic. Adapting Apparition to use with the Star Brand power had piqued my curiosity — so, I learned all about magical theory and spells."

"An ambitious undertaking," Dumbledore commented. "How far have you gotten?" he inquired, interested.

Ken tapped the side of his head. "It's all up here," he said.

Harry gasped, and even Dumbledore looked daunted. "What do you mean, 'all'?" the headmaster asked, his tone now sharp. "You couldn't possibly have read _all_ the books on magic in so short a time!"

Connell gave him an even look. "I haven't _read_ them all, of course. But all of the wizarding books and scrolls currently out there anywhere in the world have been stored in my memory."

"But how could you have done that?" Harry blurted. "Why, the Library at Hogwarts has tens of thousands of books — it would take _years_ to read all the way through them, much less all the other wizarding libraries on Earth!"

"You underestimate the power of the Star Brand, Harry," Connell reminded him. "I had only to imagine that all of that information was in my head, and the Star Brand made it so. I did the same with all of the books, magazines and media on Earth, before I left. It's true I've read through only a small fraction of that knowledge so far. However," he went on, grinning, "you can listen to a _lot_ of music over thousands of years of subjective time, especially when you're flying through intergalactic space at nearly the speed of light!"

"What have you been reading about magic, then?" Harry wanted to know. If Connell could do something like this, perhaps he could, as well!

"Well, I was fortunate enough to find some interesting stuff, early on," Ken mused. "I had decided to begin reading alphabetically, and the title of one of the first texts I read translated as _Ancient Bonds and Rituals of Wizardry, a Compleat Index_."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore looked surprised to hear that. "There are only three known copies of that text extant. One is held in the Royal Library at Windsor Castle, magically disguised to resemble a rare Muggle book of psalms; the second is in the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries, accessible only to the Unspeakables who work there. The final copy is in my personal library."

"What's so special about that book, Professor?" Harry asked him. "You've mentioned ancient magic before — the spell that my mother cast to save me from Voldemort, for example."

Dumbledore slowly stroked his beard; he appeared reluctant to reply at first. Finally, he said, "The book contains descriptions of ancient and arcane magical bonds and rituals, Harry — very powerful, and potentially very dangerous, incantations. It is quite an advanced work, incomprehensible to most students. In fact, in all the years it has been in my possession, I have only allowed three students to read it."

Both Harry and Connell looked at the professor, interest in their eyes, and he sighed. "My tendency to provide additional information sometimes gets the better of me, it seems. Ah well — in any event, to continue:

"The first one I gave it to was Tom Riddle. He was intrigued with the idea of ancient magic, but found that the principles upon which it was founded, the bonds between family and loved ones, to be anathema to his purposes, and he rejected it.

"The second student to see the book was Remus Lupin. His life, so tragically altered by the attack that made him a werewolf, did not overwhelm him, as so often happens to those afflicted with that terrible condition, and his zeal to understand magic was second only to my own. His creation of the Marauders Map — yes, Harry, I am aware that you currently have it, by the way — was a masterpiece of magical creation, made possible in part by his reading of that text.

"The last student to see the text," Dumbledore concluded, his blue eyes gazing keenly at Harry, "was your mother, Lily. In so many ways, I saw in her a deep, abiding respect for magic, in all its aspects, and I knew she would use the knowledge of the ancient bonds wisely. As it turned out, she was able to use one of the most powerful incantations, the Bond of Sacrifice, to save your life, Harry."

"By — by giving her life, to protect mine," Harry said, quietly.

Dumbledore nodded. He looked back at Connell. "Do you believe you understand the ancient magic described in that text, Kenneth?"

"Not completely," Connell admitted. "It is all quite impressive, however — especially the Bond of Making. Without that ancient ritual, magic would be much more difficult to use today than as it's currently practiced."

"The Bond of Making?" Harry repeated. "I've never heard it mentioned in any class — not even Hermione has ever talked about something like that — usually, we can't get her to _stop_ talking about all the stuff she's learned!"

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "I'm sure she would find it interesting, Harry, but it is not taught at Hogwarts as it is quite complex, and beyond even N.E.W.T.-level students. Most magical incantations are quite verbose. Some can take dozens of words to invoke, especially very complicated ones, such as the Fidelius Charm, for example.

"A few thousand years ago, a wizard — we don't know exactly who, though he was probably a Greek — discovered that the Bond of Making could be used to bind a word or phrase with a longer incantation, shortening the time required to invoke the spell. That discovery revolutionized wizardry, as we no longer had to speak or think the entire incantation, only the trigger words," Dumbledore explained.

"Yes," Connell nodded, as Harry's mouth dropped open. "I thought that was quite an innovation for wizard-kind to have come up with, along with the wand, around 2500 years ago or thereabouts."

"That's — that's incredible," Harry stammered. "But if — if that's true, Professor, how are new spells created?"

"They seldom are, Harry," Dumbledore replied, surprisingly. "Mostly, wizards use a combination of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes calculations, along with magical revealment spells, to discover trigger spells that already exist. Most wizards do not understand that what they do is a process of discovery, not creation."

Harry wanted to enquire further about this startling revelation about magic, but on Dumbledore's desk a small statue, a miniature version of the gargoyle that stood guard outside the entrance to his office, began to glow with a soft, red light. Glancing at it, Dumbledore turned to Harry and said, "We have a visitor. I believe it will be Remus Lupin, whom I've asked to keep me appraised of anything to do with Voldemort or his Death Eaters. Harry, you may want to become invisible, at least temporarily — I have not yet had the opportunity to tell him about you, and it may be a shock for him to see you alive again, so suddenly and without preparation."

Harry nodded and became invisible, and a moment later there was a knock at the great polished, oaken door to Dumbledore's office. "Come in, Remus," Dumbledore said, and Lupin quickly entered, looking agitated.

"I've some very disturbing news to report, I'm afraid," he said, after removing his cloak and exchanging hurried greetings with the headmaster and, Harry noted, with Connell, whom he seemed to know. "Voldemort has made an appearance on Muggle television, announcing his existence to the world at large!"

Dumbledore frowned. "This is most disturbing news, Remus."

"That's not the worst of it," Remus went on, his face looking even more tired, more haggard, than the last time Harry had seen him. "He also revealed the existence of the world-wide Wizarding community, and called for the immediate arrest and detention of anyone in possession of a wand!"

Connell shook his head in disgust. "The fool! Why would he do that?"

"He probably intends to force a confrontation between wizard-kind and the Muggle governments," Dumbledore speculated, his expression turning grim.

"With the power he possesses," Lupin said, looking darkly at Connell, who stared back at him emotionlessly, "he can manipulate any situation he wants, now. He could give Muggles invulnerable defenses against magic, or make wizards more powerful than ever — whatever he wants."

"He seems to be siding with non-magical forces at the moment," Connell pointed out. "Why would he go against his own kind?"

"Voldemort considers himself set apart from everyone," Dumbledore stated. "He acts only for his own best interests."

"Perhaps he plans to protect some of wizard-kind," Lupin theorized, "such as the pure-bloods, and have the Muggle-born and half-bloods rounded up and arrested. He could then turn them into an unstoppable elite, answerable only to him and the power of the Star Brand. He might even — oh my _LORD_! _HARRY_!!"

Remus had shouted the last because of Harry, who had dropped his invisibility, unable to wait any longer to speak. "Sorry, Professor," he said apologetically to Lupin. "I didn't want — uh!" He grunted in surprise as Lupin rushed forward and grabbed him in a huge hug.

"Harry! Harry! You're _alive_!" Lupin all but shouted in his ear, pounding his back exuberantly, then held him at arm's length, gazing at him with deep and undisguised affection. "Connell said there was a strong possibility that you would rejoin us one day, but I hardly dared hope —!"

"I was surprised to find myself alive again as well, sir," Harry grinned, a bit sheepishly, as Lupin released him. "I just wish it could have been under different circumstances."

"Agreed," Lupin said, soberly. He turned back to Dumbledore and Connell, both of whom were waiting tensely for him to resume his report. "Sorry — where was I?"

"You were speculating as to why Voldemort might be calling for the arrest of anyone with a wand," Connell prompted.

Lupin nodded. "Kingsley owled me just a few minutes ago, at headquarters, alerting me to these reports on the news. I haven't had a chance to see anything for myself yet — thought I should let you know before I went off to find a telly somewhere."

"I can take care of that," Connell said, and waved a hand in the air before them. As Harry and the others watched, a rectangular image appeared in front of them, like a screen floating in midair. A male and female, both dressed in Muggle business attire, were looking and talking at them. Or, so it appeared — Harry knew that, in reality, they were simply talking at the camera.

"— shocking revelation this morning," one of the newscasters, the woman, was saying, "when Secretary of Homeland Security Thomas M. Riddle broke into regular programming, speaking from the White House in Washington, D.C. in America, to announce the discovery of what he called a 'world-wide organization of magical terrorists, bent on the subjugation of the human race…"

The image cut to a recording of Voldemort speaking. He was as Harry saw him last night — not pale with red eyes or snake-like features, he now resembled a mature version of the Tom Riddle Harry had seen at the American White House. Handsome and confident-looking, the new Voldemort radiated an aura of self-assurance and familiarity that Harry felt sure must be some kind of magical effect, it felt so powerful.

"I am Thomas Riddle, the newly-appointed Secretary of the Office of Homeland Security, recently created by President Gore," the handsome image said, looking into the camera, his high, clear voice ringing with a clarity that seemed as if it carried the persuasive effects of the Imperius Curse. "I come to you today both to warn all of you of great danger, and to give everyone assurances of their safety in these troubled times.

"For centuries there has been hiding, within the very midst of the teeming billions of Earth's peoples, a sinister enemy of mankind, patiently waiting for the moment to strike. They have walked among you as normal people, yet they are not normal — they wield power that could enslave everyone, if we allow them to bring their heinous malefactions to fruition.

"They are witches and sorcerers, spawns of the devil!" The handsome image declared, his voice rising in controlled anger and outrage. Harry glanced at Professor Dumbledore and saw him staring with something like dread in his eyes — perhaps even, _fear_. A Voldemort with the power of the Star Brand behind him, and a plan to use it, would rightly inspire fear in anyone. Harry recalled how easily he had been duped into believing he could place the power within Voldemort's head, only to discover that a fragment of his soul was waiting there, to claim it and take the power for himself. And now, Voldemort was beguiling the Muggles all across Earth, if this news report was correct, into believing that wizardkind was plotting to take over!

"They have waited patiently for centuries," Voldemort went on, the tone of his voice calculated to inspire doubt and fear in the hearts of people across the world, "watching for the moment when they might seize the reins of power from our leaders around the world, to enslave and, ultimately, to eradicate us from the planet! The human race cannot and _will not allow this to happen_!

"Homeland Security has begun coordinating with law enforcement officials across the country, as well as other major countries throughout the world, through our State Department, to apprehend these wily and dangerous individuals scattered throughout the world and eradicate their threat once and for all!"

The scene shifted and a news anchorperson began speaking. "In countries such as France, Greece, Italy, Romania and Bulgaria, dozens of strangely-dressed people, armed with so-called magical wands, have been rounded up by authorities with the help of special forces sent by the United Nations, individuals wielding sacred symbols and holy water, objects deadly to the sorcerers —"

"_What_?" Harry gasped. "Are they kidding?"

"—who retreat in fear of divine power," the anchorperson went on. "Normal people are warned to report anyone seen carrying or using a wand, and to steer clear of any such people, as they are considered hostile and extremely dangerous. Divine Response Squads are being formed across the country, and along with regular law enforcement personnel, expect to have the wizard infestation removed from our society within six months…"

Harry looked around at Dumbledore and Lupin, incredulity etched into every line of his face. "'Divine Response Squads'? Sacred objects and holy water, to destroy wizards? Can that possibly be _true_?"

"No," Lupin said, heavily. "But they are actually cursed objects, not blessed ones. Voldemort is promoting his own forces as using sacred or divine power to combat the 'infernal' power of the witches and wizards. This is evidently what he's been working on for the past several months, while we've been trying to figure out what he's been up to."

"Then what's brought him out into the open?" Harry wanted to know, then looked at Dumbledore, stricken with the idea he'd just had. "Was it — me? Is he reacting to my reappearance?"

"It was probably me, Harry," Connell said. The television image had been displaying a montage of scenes showing wizards in various countries being rounded up by _other_ wizards wearing United Nations or other military uniforms. "After I returned and talked with Professor Dumbledore, I began trying to learn what Voldemort had been doing since he'd killed you and then retreated into hiding.

"I was going around, seeking out people in the governments of Europe and the Mid-East who might have hidden connections to Voldemort; since several Ministry members had resigned their positions, it seemed reasonable to suppose that he was repositioning them for some type of global effort. Before his acquisition of the Star Brand, Voldemort had planned to take over the Ministry of Magic and subjugate wizarding Britain. From there, he would have likely expanded into Europe or Scandinavia. But with the Star Brand in his grasp, his ambition expanded to include the entire world, my investigations found.

"I was a bit ham-handed about it, I'm afraid," Ken added, ruefully. "At one point, I touched the mind of one of his followers, who'd bribed his way into the Danish government, and it set off a trigger that alerted Voldemort to my existence. He still believes you're dead — I suspect he thought you were me when he saw you last night."

"He did call me 'Connell'," Harry recalled. "I didn't really think about it at the time, except that he and I looked a lot alike, for some reason."

"He did take your blood to regain his body," Dumbledore reminded him. It is also true that you were similar in appearance."

Harry gave the headmaster a doubtful stare, remembering the face of the sixteen-year old Riddle from the diary, in his second year. He didn't look half as good, at fifteen, before his return from the Godric's Hollow cemetery, as Riddle had then.

"Your trip to the American capitol probably goaded him into action, Harry," Dumbledore went on. "Oh, it's not a bad thing, overall," he added, when Harry frowned. "We did want some indication of what he's up to, and we have it now."  
"And now we have to figure out how we can fight him, and keep our people safe," Lupin said, grimly.

"I have some ideas," Connell told them, looking at Dumbledore and Lupin, and they began discussing strategies for moving Wizarding families into more remote regions, aware from Muggle governments and Voldemort's influence.

Harry listened to them talk for a few minutes, but they were ignoring him, discussing Portkeys and emergency Floo networks, and whether Hogwarts itself was remote enough to remain undisturbed, at least temporarily. Finally, after wandering around Dumbledore's office for a minute or two, he decided to find Hermione and let her know what was happening, if she hadn't already heard. Turning invisible again, he Vanished and reappeared next to her a moment later, in the Great Hall.

As with every Christmas season, the Great Hall was decked out spectacularly, with boughs of holly and mistletoe hung on the walls, and a dozen great decorated Christmas trees standing around the edges of the room, sparkling with icicles and shining with hundreds of candles. The ceiling showed a sunny (though still cold) day, unusual for this time of year, with great puffy clouds floating overhead.

At the Christmas feast, later that evening, the Hall would be filled with all the students who hadn't gone home for the holidays, and there would be platefuls of food overflowing the tables and students laughing merrily as they pulled wizard crackers and ate Christmas pudding until they were fit to burst open themselves. For now, however, the midday meal was nearly over and only a handful of students were still scattered about the tables. Sitting by herself at the Gryffindor table, facing the great double doors leading into the Entrance Hall, was Hermione. She had finished her meal, though it looked as if she'd hardly eaten anything, and was absently stirring a cup of tea sitting before her.

Harry sat still, watching her for a minute or more. In stark contrast to the festive atmosphere around her, Hermione seemed unhappy, even upset. If he hadn't known better, Harry would have believed she was concerned about the fate of the wizarding world now that Voldemort had revealed their presence to Muggles — but she probably hadn't even heard of that yet. There was no _Daily Prophet_ in front of her, and Harry knew she normally read it carefully every day, even on Christmas.

No, her thoughts were on them, him and her, and what she was feeling for him now. Harry didn't even need to touch her mind to know this; all of her feelings for him were bound up in the knowledge he'd absorbed from her, hours ago. It had been jumbling around in the back of his mind now for hours, as he'd slept.

As he watched, silent and invisible, sitting beside her, Hermione sighed and took a sip from her teacup, muttering, "What are we going to do now, Harry?"

"I don't know," he replied, quietly, and she jumped, letting out a small shriek that caused everyone else in the Hall to turn suddenly and look her way.

"Sorry, sorry," she said to the room at large, shaking her head. She held up her cup. "The tea was hotter than I expected!" As everyone turned back to their own business Hermione spoke in a whisper, from the corner of her mouth, "Harry! How long have you been there? What's going on with Professor Dumbledore and the others?"

"I've been here just a few seconds," Harry lied. "I heard your last remark. Dumbledore and Remus and Connell are trying to figure out what to do about Voldemort's latest move."

"What's happening with him?"

Harry grimaced, though Hermione couldn't see him, of course. "He just revealed the existence of wizard-kind to the entire world."

"He _what_?!" Hermione said, loudly, and several students looked her way. She glared back at them. "Do you _mind_?" she huffed, as if they were being rude, staring at her. The students shrugged and turned away.

She looked toward where Harry's voice was coming from. "Why would he _do_ that? His followers are wizards, too — won't they be in as much danger as the rest of us?"  
"Maybe not," Harry decided, "if he can protect them, or keep the Muggle authorities from arresting them. There are wizards going out with the police and military, pretending they have some kind of special powers to stop 'evil' magical folk — basically, anyone Voldemort wants to get rid of, I expect."

"And what can _we_ do?" Hermione asked, anxiously. "We can't just sit here and wait for them to show up at the castle doors!"

"Dumbledore's up in his office, trying to figure out what our next move is," Harry said.

"And why aren't _you_ up there as well?" Hermione demanded. "Doesn't this concern you as much as it does them?"

"Yeah," Harry said, slowly. "But I've never been a great strategist… Ron's beat me loads of time at wizard chess. An' this is a lot more important than _that_!"

"Oh bollocks, Harry!" Hermione said hotly, glaring at his left shoulder, where she thought his face was. "You're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for! You should've stayed back up in Dumbledore's office and helped them sort things out!"

"I wanted to come down to find you," Harry said, quietly. He didn't want to admit that his emotions about her were rather jumbled up and confused at the moment — but he _did_ care about her. "We never really got a chance to talk, after I woke up…" He stopped, concentrating for a moment, imagining himself visible only to her, and she smiled slightly as he appeared.

But her smile quickly waned. "How can we talk about it _now_, Harry?" she asked, looking solemn. "If — if there _was_ something between us — you and I never really talked about it before, you know."

"We did last year, didn't we?" Harry said, hesitantly.

"You mean that rubbish Rita Skeeter printed about us?" Hermione looked at him archly. "Don't tell me _you're_ starting to believe that claptrap too, Harry!"

"No," Harry shook his head slowly. "But, sometimes, other people see things in us we can't see ourselves…"

"But _not_ Rita Skeeter, Harry!" Hermione said skeptically, though there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes as well. "She was just trying to stir up trouble —"

The doors of the Great Hall swung open, and everyone there, including Harry and Hermione, glanced toward them. Hermione's face fell when she saw who it was. "Oh, bollocks," she muttered. "Not him, not _now_…"

It was Ron, Harry saw — looking up and down the Gryffindor table and finally catching sight of Hermione. He began walking toward her.

"I thought he went home to the Burrow!" Hermione muttered under her breath, so only Harry could hear.

"What d'you think he wants?" Harry asked, thinking he might not want to hear the answer. But Hermione only shook her head.

Ron was carrying a newspaper in his hand, a copy of the _Prophet_, and he dropped it on the table in front of Hermione as he sat down across from her. "I had to come back," he announced flatly, staring at her.

"What for?" she asked, more harshly than Harry thought necessary, but he kept silent as Ron pointed toward the paper he'd dropped.

"You-Know-Who's revealed the existence of the Wizarding world to the Muggles!" Ron said, loud enough that several students at other tables turned around, in alarm. "I — I wanted to — make sure you were safe," he went on, speaking haltingly. "I didn't — I _don't_ — want anything to happen to you, Hermione."

Hermione sighed, softening, and said, "Thank you, Ron. In fact, I'm glad you're back, really — I have some good news for you!" She glanced at the empty seat next to her, smiling, and Ron followed her look with some confusion.

Harry imagined himself visible to Ron, and said softly, "Happy Christmas, Ron," as he appeared next to Hermione.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron gasped, staring at Harry wide-eyed. "But you're — you're d-dead, Harry! Are you a — a g-ghost?" he whispered, goggling at him.

"Yeah," Harry deadpanned. "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Presents, Ron, here to take all yours back and give you a lump of coal!"

Ron's lip began to quiver, as if he could really believe what Harry had just told him. Then he looked at the expression of annoyed amusement on Harry's face and he slumped in relief.

"Of course I'm not a ghost, you prat," Harry continued, exasperated. "The Star Brand kept me from being permanently killed, but I've been recovering for the past few months. I just revived this morning!" He didn't bother to add the circumstances surrounding how he'd done so.

Ron's face broke into a sudden smile. "Excellent!" he beamed. "Wait'll everyone back at home hears about you being alive again!"

"Right," Harry smiled, although telling the Weasley family he was alive again wasn't very high in his list of priorities at the moment. "We still have to figure out how to stop Voldemort, you know, Ron," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh — right…" Ron's face fell almost comically. He looked annoyed to have the good news of Harry's return spoiled. "Haven't heard anything about him in months — I wonder what bee got up his bum?"

Before Harry could say anything, however, there was a flash of white and Ken Connell appeared next to Ron, who shied violently away in surprise. "Ah, here you are," he said in a conversational tone, as if he'd just poked his head through the doors of the Great Hall, not appeared suddenly in their midst. "Harry, we need to talk — in private," he added, glancing at Ron and Hermione.

"What's up?" Harry asked, a bit miffed at Connell's dismissal of his friends. "You can say anything in front of them, it's okay —"

There was a sudden flash of light, then darkness. Harry looked around, but the lack of light was absolute. Even adjusting his eyes to the point of seeing individual photons revealed nothing but a single heat signature nearby — he switched to infrared, and the reddened image of Connell became visible, looking at him seriously.

"So, what's up?" Harry repeated, now annoyed. "What's so secret you couldn't even say it in front of Ron and Hermione?" He looked around; they were still inside Hogwarts, but he could make out nothing around him except Connell. "Where are we?

Conner looked around, and the darkness coalesced into a small room, walled in stone similar to the corridors of the school, with lamps lining the walls. There was nothing else in the room; no tables or chairs, no rug or cushions or anything they might sit upon. "This was originally called 'The Room of Necessity,' back in the time of the Founders. At some point, when the term 'necessary room' took on a different meaning, it became the Room of Requirement.

Harry looked around the room. It didn't seem very impressive. "What does it do?"

"Whatever you require of it," Connell said with a smile, shrugging. "Within the limits of magic, of course. It was Rowena Ravenclaw's crowning achievement for the school, surpassing even Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets or Godric Gryffindor's Founders' Tower."

"I've been in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry said, "but I've never heard of the Founders' Tower, or the Room of Requirement. What did you bring me here for, anyway?" he asked, getting annoyed again.

"I wanted a place where no one could overhear us, Harry — this room is the most secure place in the castle, if you need it to be. We need to talk about Voldemort."

"Good," Harry said, grimly. "And about time, too — I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about him."

"Not hardly!" Ken said, emphatically. "After traveling millions of light-years over thousands of years of subjective time, I would never allow him to pervert the Star Brand into an instrument of slavery and destruction such as he plans to use it!"  
"What's our play, then?" Harry asked, eager to do anything he could to help stop Voldemort. "I'm guessing that, with the two of us, we have an advantage in numbers."

"To some degree," Connell nodded. "However, we can't simply attack him head on — even with your power added to mine, our superiority would only be a temporary one."

Connell gestured, and a table and map appeared in front of them. The map was a street guide to Washington D.C., showing the location of the White House. He pointed to a spot a few miles away, to the southeast. "I want you to start here and begin advancing, on foot, to here —" Connell tapped the location of the White House.

"It's going to take me a while to walk that distance," Harry said, looking at Connell dubiously. "I can just land right here, in the garden —" he pointed to the front lawn of the White House. "That'll be a lot quicker."

"Yes," Connell agreed, "but it will also provoke an immediate and direct response from Voldemort himself, and we already know that without the Star Brand, you don't stand a chance against him."

Harry nodded unhappily. "So why _am_ I going in, then, if I can't beat him?"

"A distraction," Connell replied. "Voldemort tends to send underlings to handle problems; it's rare that he becomes directly involved anymore, preferring to control activities from behind the front lines. He only attacked you at the White House, earlier, because he thought you were me at first. By the time you escaped back to Hogwarts, he had realized that you and I were separate entities."

"How?" Harry asked.

"I told him," Connell replied. Harry gave him a questioning look, and he continued, "Voldemort and I had a short conversation after you teleported back to the school. He thought I had created a doppelganger of him, to attack the White House as a distraction. I let him believe that, because it is useful if he thinks you're not real. Now, to throw him off even more —" Connell gestured toward Harry, and he felt himself change slightly, becoming shorter and thinner. A mirror appeared before him; Harry looked at himself, and gasped.

The fifteen-year old Harry was back, complete with glasses, unruly black hair and lightning scar. Harry stared at his reflection, thinking that only a few weeks ago in his subjective memory, his life, while no picnic even then, had certainly been a lot less complicated than it was now!

He touched his forehead. "You know, I haven't missed this scar at all," he said, plaintively. A horrible though occurred to him. "You — you didn't put Voldemort back in here, did you?" he asked, running his fingers along the lightning-shaped mark.

"Of course not," Connell shook his head. "I'm not even sure I could have, to be honest."

"So why turn me back into my old self?" Harry wanted to know. "What's the point?"

"I need about thirty minutes to set up the trap I plan to spring on Voldemort," Connell replied. "I need you to keep him occupied, keep his attention focused on you. That's why I don't want you dropping onto the White House lawn, and why I want you looking like your old self. If he thinks you're just a doppelganger — he'll believe that, because you're giving off the same energy pattern you did before — he'll be less likely to come after you himself, until it's too late."

"And what if he reads my mind, to find out what you intend?"

"Then you should resist him as much as possible," Connell suggested. "But he'll probably only do that if he realizes you're the real Harry and not a doppelganger."

Harry drew a deep breath. "Alright, then, I'm in. The only thing I'm not clear on is … what do we hope to accomplish with this? Are we trying to force Voldemort into giving up the Star Brand?"

Connell shook his head. "Only he can do that. It has to be an act of his will, transferring the Brand to another being, or to an inanimate object, and you know what will happen if he does _that_!"

"Yeah," Harry nodded grimly. "Everything within a fifty-mile radius is vaporized."

"At _least_ that," Connell pointed out. "It's possible, if he did it deliberately, he could cause the fireball to expand and engulf the continent, or even the entire world. Even so, that wouldn't destroy him permanently — he'd reform once again, with the Star Brand still part of him, as it did when that happened to me."

The table vanished. "Are you ready, Harry?" Connell asked.

Harry nodded, but then said, "Ken, I don't want to kill anyone."

Connell stared at him a long moment. "I wouldn't ask you to, Harry."

"But I'm going to be attacked on my way there," Harry pointed out. "It's going to be hard to avoid killing someone, once they start attacking me."

"You've managed to get this far without killing anyone," Connell argued. "Well, except for Voldemort, and he's evened the score on that account with you already, hasn't he?"

"I guess," Harry said, vaguely. "Maybe I should go say goodbye to my friends…"

Connell shook his head. "That's defeatist thinking, Harry. You'll see them again. Just keep Voldemort occupied for a half-hour and I'll spring the trap on him. Once he's controlled, we'll come up with a more permanent solution for him."

"Controlled?" Harry echoed. "How are we going to control him —"

"No time to explain that now," Connell shook his head. There was a flash of light, and they appeared in the skies over Washington D.C., a few thousand feet above the ground.

"There's your objective," Connell said, pointing to the northwest, where Harry could see the three buildings of the Executive Residence of the United States president nestled among the trees, barren of leaves in the winter. To the south of the White House grounds he could see a large evergreen tree, decorated with Christmas ornaments and flickering with lights in the early evening. "I'll see you in thirty minutes. Good luck, Harry." Connell vanished in a burst of white light.

Taking a deep breath, Harry allowed himself to drop straight down, toward the ground. He fell until he reached terminal velocity, then at the last moment before reaching the ground he began to slow down. He still slammed into the street at high speed. It crumpled beneath him, gouging out a crater of shattered concrete and asphalt. Harry climbed up easily out of it.

Looking around, he saw that he was near a river; the road he'd landed in crossed over it on a bridge. It was a four-lane, with a large median between the two directions of traffic. There weren't many cars on it at the moment, this being Christmas evening, five hours later than at Hogwarts. Harry began walking along the road, toward the White House. He guessed it was four or five miles away.

He'd walked perhaps a half-mile to the northwest when a vehicle marked "police" pulled up beside him. The blue-uniformed officer on the side nearest him (the steering wheel was on the _left_ side of the car, opposite of at home) called him over. Jerking a thumb from the direction they'd come, the man said, "Hey, kid, did you come from back that way?"

"Yes," Harry answered, curtly. He wasn't sure what to expect from the man, though he could sense wariness, even fear, radiating from him.

"We had a report of a sinkhole back there," the officer continued, giving Harry an appraising look from behind his cheaters. The other officer, the driver, had his hand on his weapon, hidden from view behind the nearer officer's body. "A couple of people reported seeing a young lad walking away from the vicinity. We just want to ask you a couple of questions."

Harry shrugged. "Ask whatever you'd like." He kept walking.

The police car stopped. "Come on back here," the officer called out.

"Can't," Harry said over his shoulder. In fact he would have to walk even faster if he was going to cover the distance to the White House in the remaining twenty minutes.

Both cops exited the vehicle. "Get back here, kid!" the first one said commandingly, then dropped his hand to the weapon on his hip and barked "Freeze!" when Harry didn't stop.

Harry spun around. "Good idea," he said, and with a gesture put a Body-Bind Curse on both men. He turned forward and kept walking, leaving them standing stiffly, staring at his back.

So far, it had been easy enough — other than the foregoing incident with the two American bobbies, there'd been little, if any, notice taken of him by the local authorities. Harry was beginning to think that Voldemort hadn't expected something like this — a lone wizard mounting an invasion of America's capitol city! Either that, or as Connell had said, Voldemort knew he was coming but thought he was some kind of artificial construct, a doppelganger created by the Star Brand rather than the real Harry Potter, put into play to create some kind of distraction. If Voldemort believed that, however, wouldn't he be taking steps to prepare for whatever actual attack was surely coming?

A number of police vehicles were suddenly turning onto the street from several directions, converging on his location. Harry concentrated for a moment, imagining the petrol in the oncoming vehicles turning to water, and their engines all died. The cars all began braking wildly, some slamming into one another; as they stopped, policemen poured out of them onto the street, taking up position behind the vehicles and pointing handguns and shotguns at him.

Harry sighed and made a _poofing_ gesture with his hand; all of the weapons held by the police were all Transfigured to smoke. Another gesture and they were all put under the Full Body-Bind Curse. Harry walked through the frozen figures of the officers, their eyes following him as he nodded and smiled at them. He glanced at his watch — fifteen more minutes. My goodness, at this rate, he was going to be late!

Harry began picking up speed, at first jogging, then running, until he was moving faster than a person could possibly run, perhaps forty or fifty miles per hour. It felt faintly ridiculous, and he finally slowed to a halt as he came to an intersection with several park-like sections surrounding it; several block ahead were a number of larger buildings, including a domed one that Harry knew was called the Capitol Building. The White House was still more than two miles away.

Something touched him, like someone drumming their fingers on his back, and as Harry turned he heard a _bzzzt_, as if a swarm of angry bees had flown past him. At the same time, the grass and street around him began breaking apart, like multiple Blasting Curses were being hurled at him. Harry recognized it as machine-gun fire. Several helicopters were bearing down on him, coming in from the southwest.

The bullets couldn't harm him, of course, but they were prone to bounce in unpredictable directions and Harry could sense other people walking or in vehicles in the area around him. They were in more danger than he was. The only direction he could go to keep them out of line of fire was up. Harry took to the skies.

The gunships heading his way presented a problem; Harry couldn't just turn the petrol in their tanks to water — they would fall out of the sky, killing their crew. Plus, the bullets that missed him had to fall somewhere — people were still in danger of being hit. After a moment's consideration, Harry gestured toward the helicopters, turning all of their bullets into dust.

That didn't stop them, however. The helicopters began making passes, trying to knock him out of the sky with missiles. It was annoying. Harry checked his watch; there was barely ten minutes left before Connell was supposed to return. Harry wondered if he was supposed to have lured Voldemort to him, or made his way to the Dark wizard; that hadn't been exactly clear in Connell's instructions, earlier.

There was a flash of green from below and Harry instinctively dodged. A green bolt of magic passed by him, traveling upward. It was a Killing Curse, cast from below! A quick revealment charm showed a half-dozen wizards on the ground, arrayed between him and the White House as well as on either side of him. He could sense the Dark Mark on several of them. Death Eaters!

And here he was, hanging in the middle of the sky without any cover, a perfect target for both the helicopters in the air and Voldemort's wizards on the ground! Harry shook his head, angry at his own tactical lapse. He needed to neutralize the helicopters immediately, and as noticeably as possible, to forestall further attacks. A moment of concentration later and all of the helicopters were transformed into hot air balloons; each one had the words "Voldemort is a slimy git" written on the side. Every member of the helicopter crews were left standing in their gondolas, each one holding a pea shooter in his or her hand. _That should get someone's attention_, Harry thought, smirking. That left only the wizards on the ground.

Various curses and hexes had been whizzing past Harry, but only that first one had come anywhere near him. The Death Eaters Voldemort had sent were either too afraid to aim properly, or they were having difficulty seeing him in the encroaching darkness. He needed something equally noticeable for them, he decided, and levitated all of them into the air until they were as high up as he was, then Transfigured all of them into geese, and released them. Honking and squawking, the geese began frantically flapping their wings, trying to stay airborne. They all recovered, more or less — a couple of them flapped until they dropped to the ground, unhurt; the rest flew away.

He was almost out of time. Harry dropped toward the ground, angling his descent so that he landed on the grass in front of the main building of the White House, directly in front of its main entrance. He searched for, but couldn't find, Voldemort's location. He must be shielding it from him with the Star Brand power, just as Connell had shielded his and Harry's location from Voldemort earlier.

"Well, well, Harry Potter, as I live and breathe," a high, cold voice spoke from above him, and Harry looked upward to see Voldemort glaring down from a balcony on the White House's first floor. "Connell led me to believe you were still dead," he went on, with a cold sneer. "But I presume he thought that would be to his advantage.

"I already knew better, of course. The Fiendfyre I used to destroy you should have consumed your body to ashes, yet your charred skeleton remained. Were you surprised to find yourself alive once again, Potter?"

"A bit," Harry admitted, his voice as cold as the Dark Lord's.

Voldemort smiled maliciously. "Perhaps not as much as I found it, Potter. It's become rather tedious, in fact, over these past few years, trying to kill you. And now, that would seem to be impossible, if I understand the situation correctly."

"You do," Harry replied. "Neither of us can kill the other. A stalemate."

Voldemort chuckled. "Oh, I would not go that far, Harry! There are still moves I might make that you cannot match. For example: your pitiful performance against the Muggle security forces, and my followers. You did not kill a single one of them."

"I wasn't trying to," Harry pointed out.

"Thereby exposing your weakness," Voldemort continued, smiling at the look of dread that had come, unbidden, into Harry's eyes as he realized what Voldemort meant. "Yes, you see it now, do you not? I will have no compunctions about destroying any of your allies that stand in my way. Including any of your little friends, or that foolish old man, who may still think I'm afraid of him. I've had no reason to be, since I acquired _this_!" He thrust his long-fingered hand forward, showing Harry the Star Brand etched into his palm.

"Now, Potter, where is Connell?" Voldemort demanded. "What is he planning?"

"I don't know," Harry said, truthfully.

"I expect you don't," the Dark wizard smirked at him. "But you must know something, or suspect it. Reveal it!" A wave of pain crashed into Harry's brain, and he reeled under the impact, frantically erecting mental shields as Voldemort drilled relentlessly into his mind, seeking out the answers he believed Harry held.

Harry focused his concentration inward, into his mental defenses as the Dark wizard, wielding the power of the Star Brand, forced himself closer and closer to Harry's thoughts. In his mind's vision of the struggle, Harry and Voldemort faced each other from opposite ends of a large field, as Voldemort began to move forward, his long-fingered hand held out, preparing to touch Harry and take the information from him. Harry would gesture, throwing up a fence or wall, but Voldemort would conjure flames to burn it down, or winds to blow it away, or a dragon to batter it apart. Within a minute, Voldemort had drawn close to him, and he reached out to touch Harry.

Harry screamed as his memories were ripped from his mind. The power of the Star Brand was incredible, and irresistible — Voldemort was definitely not trying for subtlety! His probes felt like red-hot daggers in Harry's brain, searing through his defenses and laying bare his thoughts.

A few moments later Harry found himself lying on the mental field of battle, with Voldemort standing over him, his hand still outstretched. There was a look of vague disappointment and disapproval twisting his handsome face, as if he had expected better of both Harry and Connell. "Interesting memories you have, Potter. Hmm. A distraction? Is that what you're reduced to, being a pawn in the struggle between Connell and myself?" He shook his head slowly, making _tsking_ noises. "At least _he_ is trying, Harry. That's more than I can say for _you_ right now."

Angered, Harry looked up defiantly at Voldemort, but before he could say anything the field and other trappings of their mindscape faded unexpectedly to white. There was a tremendous _jerk_, and he and Voldemort found themselves back in Washington, D.C., a few dozen feet apart, now several hundred feet in the air over the White House. Floating nearby was Kenneth Connell, forming a triangle as they faced each other.

"There you are, Connell," Voldemort grinned wolfishly at the new arrival. "Harry was beginning to wonder where you — eh?" He expression was one of momentary confusion as he noted the position of the sun. It was now on the opposite horizon. "Morning? Did you shift us in time, Connell?"

"I made a few changes, yeah," Connell said, thrusting a hand toward Voldemort. A beam of white-hot, unimaginably powerful energy exploded from it, slamming into Voldemort and throwing him toward the ground. The impact and blast tore a huge crater; Harry gasped in horror as buildings collapsed for blocks around them.

"_What are you DOING_?!" he screamed at Connell. "There are PEOPLE down there!!" Connell shook his head, and Harry turned away in disgust, starting down to help any survivors he might find, when there was a white flash around him and he found himself back in Scotland, in the skies over Hogwarts.

"What the hell?" Harry muttered to himself. This was making no sense! Why did Connell attack Voldemort that way, in such a destructive manner? And futilely, it seemed — Voldemort's Star Brand would protect him from harm, but there was no telling how many innocent people had just died!

And where was Connell, anyway? Harry spun in place, slowly, surveying the skies as far as his vision allowed. It was nighttime here again, around midnight — it seemed Connell had sent them about half a day forward in time, to the morning of December 26. Looking up, he saw a familiar constellation, Ursa Major, high in the northeast sky. Nearby was Ursa Minor, with Polaris, the Pole Star, at the end of its "handle." Harry frowned at that; there was something not right about seeing that —

At that moment, however, Connell appeared beside him, looking tense. "It didn't work," he said shortly.

"What the hell's wrong with you?!" Harry exploded, ignoring what Connell had said. "How many innocent people did you just kill — and for what purpose? _Voldemort can't be destroyed_! I thought you had a plan, Connell!"

"I did, but it didn't work," Connell said again. "I couldn't contain him. My trap failed! But I didn't kill anyone, Harry!"

"What d'you mean?" Harry shouted, in disbelief. "That explosion took out _blocks_ of buildings!

"Harry," Connell said, facing him squarely, "that explosion was _nothing_. You, Voldemort and I are the most powerful beings on Earth. A battle between him and us is going to become hugely destructive — we could destroy entire cities, even whole _continents_, in the blink of an eye. Hell, if Voldemort thought he was losing, he could put the Star Brand on an inanimate object and will it to destroy the entire _world_, and it would only be a minor inconvenience to him, until his body reformed!

"I took steps to save every living thing here on Earth," Connell continued, speaking rapidly, "by moving them somewhere safe. No, I'm _not_ going to tell you where," he said, as Harry began to ask. "The less you know, the less Voldemort can learn from you. Now raise your right hand."

Harry did, and Connell pressed his own palm against it. Light blazed brightly between them, and when Harry pulled his hand back and looked, the Star Brand was once again visible on his palm. Connell's palm, he also saw, was now devoid of any symbol.

"I have to go, now," Connell said, and Harry stared at him, in shock and disbelief. Was Connell running out on him, now that his trap had failed?

"You have _got_ to be kidding!" he croaked, but Connell shook his head.

"It's your job to fight Voldemort, Harry, even if you can't kill him anymore," he said, commandingly. "You have the Star Brand again, so he can't kill you, either. You're going to have to persuade him it's not worth his while to hang around Earth anymore, now that there's no one left here to rule over."

"I can't do this alone!" Harry protested. "I need your help! Maybe if we split up the Star Brand —"

"No good," Connell said, moving away from Harry. "We had a better chance earlier, when I had the Star Brand and you were fully charged. Now you and he are evenly matched, and I'll be taking care of everyone while you're fighting him. Good luck, Harry."

But before Connell vanished in a flash of white light, he said, "oh, by the way, you're not really alone, Harry. I left a few of your friends behind in the castle, to help you against Voldemort." There was a flash of white and Connell disappeared.

"_What_?!" Harry shouted. Looking down into the castle, he detected several humans still there: Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore and some of the other teachers. "CONNELL! _Why would you do that_?!" he screamed at the sky.

But there was no answer, and Harry could detect no other students, and no other living beings, not even animals or other creatures, in the Forbidden Forest or anywhere else, in any direction, to the horizon. Expanding his senses to cover the entire world, he found only one other sign of life, still in Washington, in America: Voldemort.

He, his best friends, and his favorite teachers at Hogwarts were the last people on Earth, and they were stuck there with a madman who could never be killed, and who wanted all of them dead!


	7. Showdown

The Potter Brand

Chapter 7

"Showdown"

Harry hung for a moment in the skies above Hogwarts, unsure what to do next. Kenneth Connell had just vanished, having removed every other living thing from Earth except Harry, Lord Voldemort and his closest friends and teachers: Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout — even Snape! What Connell was trying to accomplish with this, Harry had no clue, but he was now left to fend for himself against the Dark Lord, who at this moment was still in Washington, D.C. after a confrontation with Harry and Connell and who, still in possession of a Star Brand of his own, was now immortal and virtually unstoppable.

The Star Brand, an enigmatic artifact of immense power, had been brought to Earth several months ago by the equally enigmatic Kenneth Connell, a man seemingly from another universe entirely — one where no witches or wizards existed on his home planet, which he called Earth as well. He had given the Star Brand to Harry, who promptly used it to kill Voldemort, though he regretted being seduced by the power afterwards. In recognition of his humility, Connell granted him half of the nearly limitless power of the Star Brand, splitting it between them, before departing into space.

Unfortunately, though Voldemort's head had been cleaved from his body with the Sword of Gryffindor, he survived and found a way to trick Harry into giving him the Star Brand. He then killed Harry and disappeared for a time, resurfacing as Senator Thomas Riddle, from the United States, who planned to take over the United States and use its military to control the world, rounding up and enslaving most of the world's Wizarding population in the process.

For some time now the Brand had been split between Voldemort and Connell; it was now in Harry's possession, making him Voldemort's equal in power once again. But there was no way to get Connell's half of the Brand away from the Dark Lord unless he willingly transferred it from himself to some other person, and given Voldemort's desire for power and eternal life, the chances of that happening was almost nil!

"_Potter_," he heard Voldemort's voice in his head. The dark wizard was mentally contacting him with an enhanced form of Leglimency. "_Wherever you are, I know you can hear me. Return to me now — we have much to discuss_."

Harry shook his head disbelievingly. What could he and Voldemort _possibly_ have to discuss with one another? On the other hand, he realized, Voldemort had not started destroying Washington, D.C., as Harry might have expected after Connell's last attack on him. He dithered only a moment, wanting to see his friends down in the castle before going to Voldemort, but dared not tempt him to anger by keeping the Dark Lord waiting. Harry disappeared in a flash of white light.

A moment later he reappeared over the White House, sensing the Dark Lord waiting for him inside. He floated down, landing on the front steps of the White House. "_I'm here_," he thought in reply. "_What do we do now_?"

"_Come inside_," was Voldemort's mental reply. "_I await you in the 'Oval Office.' There are some things we should discuss, now that Connell has gone_."

Harry, walking into the building, extended his senses across the planet, searching for Kenneth Connell, the man who had given him the Star Brand in the first place, several months ago. When he'd first gotten the Star Brand, its effect had been exhilarating, even intoxicating, to him — he had been angry at being ignored for a month after coming home from Hogwarts, after the return of Voldemort and the death of Cedric Diggory, and afterwards, when he realized how simple it would be to solve the problem of Voldemort, he'd simply gone and done it — he'd _killed_ the Dark Lord. Problem, he thought, solved!

But Harry didn't know about Voldemort's Horcruxes — Dumbledore only told him of their existence after he'd decapitated the Dark Lord and delivered his head to Professor Dumbledore. What was worse, the head retained part of Voldemort's soul, and it was able to manipulate people around it to do its bidding, until a possessed Ginny Weasley tricked an Amortentia-besotted Harry into placing the Star Brand on Voldemort's severed head, believing he was about to intimately touch Ginny. Voldemort then incapacitated Harry and burned him nearly to ashes with Fiendfyre, killing him (and incidentally destroying the fragment of Voldemort's soul that had lodged in his scar during the Dark Lord's first attack, when Harry was only one year old, Harry later learned).

Because of changes to his body due to the power of the Star Brand, Harry, though buried for months, slowly revived within in his grave, returning fully to life a day ago, on Christmas, as Hermione and Professor Dumbledore visited his and his parents' graves. Connell had reappeared as well, with a plan to defeat the Dark Lord, but it had failed and he had disappeared, taking everyone on Earth with him, excepting Voldemort, a few of his friends and teachers at Hogwarts, and Harry himself. And now Voldemort wanted a face-to-face meeting with him, for what purpose Harry could scarcely imagine.

"_Yes, Potter, just keep walking this way, you are not far from the Oval Office_," Voldemort's voice guided Harry through the corridors toward his location. He'd been sent along various hallways, down to a lower level, and through a storage area that led to a tunnel he was now following as the Dark Lord urged him along. Finally coming to a door, he opened it and passed through, finding himself beside another door leading to where he sensed Voldemort waited for him. Harry opened the door and walked inside.

It really was an _oval_ office, Harry saw, shaped just as the name implied. A set of couches and chairs were in front of him, just left of the room's center. On the opposite side was another door leading outside, with windows on either side. On the walls were several pictures, though the people in them weren't moving; they must be normal portraits, Harry decided.

On his right was a large, wooden desk, sitting in front of three large, curtained windows. Behind the desk, giving him a condescending little smile, was Lord Voldemort — Tom Marvolo Riddle, Harry reminded himself, though the man no longer resembled the pale figure who had appeared from the cauldron in the cemetery in Little Hangleton. He was once again a handsome, vibrant man, fairly bursting with charisma and confidence. Immediately Harry was on guard. He could never forget that Riddle had murdered his parents, and would have murdered him as well, had it not been for his mother's sacrifice — her murder by Voldemort's hand, and the ancient magic that death had invoked which rebounded his Killing Curse back during their first encounter, breaking the Dark Lord's body and destroying his parents' house, from which he was rescued (he was told) by Hagrid. Now they faced each other once again, this time in the office of (until recently) most powerful man in the world, the President of the United States.

"Welcome, Harry," Riddle said, gesturing to a spot in front of his desk; a chair slid across the floor, stopping in front of the desk. "Please have a seat."

"What do you want?" Harry asked, not moving.

"What I want," Riddle replied, still gesturing toward the chair, "is for us to come to an understanding with one another, now that the outsider is gone."

"You mean Connell," Harry said.

"Yes," Riddle nodded. "I presume he left you one of these as well?" he opened the hand he was holding forward, palm outward, and Harry saw the Star Brand symbol there. Slowly, he raised his own hand, showing Riddle the Star Brand there.

"I thought so," Riddle said, smiling and lowering his hand. "There was nothing else for him to do, really, unless he planned to take your place, and Earth is much too provincial for his tastes, I expect."

"I think he expects me to protect this planet," Harry said, flatly. "That's why he left me his half of the Star Brand."

"And that's exactly what I wish to discuss with you, Harry," Riddle said. "Now, will you sit down and talk to me? Please?"

It was a word Harry had never expected to hear from Riddle's lips, except in a mocking or sarcastic tone. That, more than anything else about the situation, made him move forward and seat himself in the chair proffered by Riddle.

Turning to face him directly, Riddle said, "I have been considering the current situation, given that you and I are now equals in terms of power, and that Connell has left the area, seemingly. I feel there is no longer a need for us to quarrel over a situation that neither of us will be able to gain an advantage over, and will in fact very likely instead incur catastrophic damage and devastation to the world, were we to do so."

Harry nodded slowly, deciding to go along for now. "I see your point. I caused a lot of damage just getting here from a few miles away, and I was trying to do as little damage as possible. When Connell attacked you, he cause more damage in just a few seconds than I did in the previous 30 minutes."

"Exactly!" Riddle agreed emphatically. "You and I are more alike than either of us suspected, Harry! We think along similar lines."

_Not hardly_, Harry thought to himself.

"We don't see the point of useless bloodshed, or needless waste," Riddle went on. _Unless it serves your twisted purpose_, Harry thought.

"I know we both want a peaceful solution to our differences," Riddle concluded, smiling at Harry. "And so do all the people on the planet."

"Er — yeah, I'd agree with that," Harry said at last, after a moment's confusion. Did Riddle not realize that there were only a handful of people now left on the planet?

"I'm glad you do." Riddle stood, turning to look out one of the windows behind him. "I think we will be able to work out a very efficient system for governing the Muggles and Mudbloods of Earth, guided by the pure-bloods and half-bloods of the various nations. With myself — and you, of course — in charge, this world will become quite a comfortable place for us."

"By 'us,' do you mean you and me?" Harry asked, keeping his emotions tightly in check. The "new" Riddle was as hopelessly prejudiced and set on conquest as the old Voldemort had been — the only thing that had changed was the packaging, and the power behind it.

"Of course," Riddle said, casually. "Although everyone will benefit, to some degree, from the order we will bring to the world, using our Star Brands. You have the power, Harry Potter — and I know from direct experience that you are not afraid to use it. You and I both have taken each other's measure, and we have both felt the Star Brand's power, both inside us and used against us. Now, we can both use the power together, to cooperate with each other in making this world our own."

It was too much. Harry had already erected a barrier around Hogwarts, one that would keep Riddle from detecting the people still there. "No, I can't," he said, and Riddle frowned at not getting the cooperation and acquiescence he expected. "For one thing, you're so damned self-absorbed and arrogant that you haven't even realized, the world you want to rule is now devoid of life, except for us!"

"What?" Riddle looked around, seeming to mentally search for his most trusted followers. "Lucius? Bellatrix? Rosier?" He rounded on Harry. "_What have you done with them, Potter_?!"

"Connell took them," Harry replied with a feral grin, savoring the consternation in Riddle's voice. One could hardly be a Dark Lord if there was no one to lord it over. "He took _everyone_ — the entire world is empty except for us!"

Riddle glared at him, then stood motionless for several seconds, scanning the planet for any signs of life. Harry held his breath for a moment, hoping his shields around Hogwarts would keep Riddle from detecting anyone there. It seemed to work, for Riddle's handsome face twisted in fury. "_CONNELL_!!" he screamed, the volume of his voice shattering the windows of the Oval Office. Harry felt it drive into his head as well, though it was only a momentary pressure as the power of the Star Brand protected him from harm.

Riddle's next action was far less subtle, as he lashed out against Harry with a blast of energy that vaporized most of the White House and surrounding grounds, and flung Harry several blocks to the northeast. Harry felt himself slam through several buildings, gouging out great, gaping holes in them, though with the Star Brand's power he felt almost no impact at all. Only the sustained pressure of Riddle's blast kept him traveling outward, until he stopped, nearly a mile away.

He'd barely had a moment's reprieve, however, when Riddle reappeared in a flash of light, floating above him, and hit him with another blast, this time driving him downward into solid earth, ripping a deep hole into the crust. Riddle was not stopping, either — he appeared to be pushing Harry toward the center of the planet, perhaps in an attempt to imprison him there. But that couldn't happen as long as they both possessed the power of the Star Brand, with its access to infinite energy. Still, Harry had been driven nearly a mile underground before he took the offensive. He disappeared from the path of Riddle's beam, reappearing beside him, and directed a powerful blast of his own against Riddle, driving him into the air. He followed, and within milliseconds both of them had cleared the atmosphere.

Now several thousand miles above the Earth, Harry saw the Moon, shining with an odd, reddish hue a few degrees from his zenith. Changing the beam he was projecting at Riddle to grab hold of him, Harry began spinning, subjecting Riddle to hundred's of g's of centripetal force, until he was traveling at perhaps a tenth of the speed of light, maybe 20,000 miles per second. He released the beam at just the right moment, and Riddle was flung at one-tenth the speed of light into the Moon, with a violent explosion of lunar dust and rock thrown up from the force of the impact. He was driven several miles below the surface by the force of the impact.

However, the same power that kept Harry safe also protected Riddle, who appeared in a flash of light, a mile away from Harry. "_Reconsider my offer, Harry_," his voice flooded Harry's brain once again. "_Even if we're alone on this world, we can fill it once again with people, just as Connell did on the world he created. Yes_," he went on, as Harry gasped involuntarily at that reference. "_I read your thoughts, remember, and know what you know about Kenneth Connell. I can do so again any time I want to, to find out what he did with everyone on Earth_."

Not likely, Harry knew, since he hadn't had the Star Brand when Riddle did that, earlier. Now Harry should be able to keep him out of his head—not that he knew what Connell had done with everyone on Earth, only that they were gone — with a few exceptions, who were now at Hogwarts. To Riddle he thought, "_I don't know what Connell did with everyone, but I wouldn't tell you if I did_!"

"_Such bravado_," Riddle sneered. "_But what chance would you have against a master Leglimens such as I, backed with the power of the Star Brand? Our power being otherwise equal, Potter, you would lose to my superior mental capabilities. But let that be your decision, for now. Later, when you long for companionship other than myself, you will tell me what I need to know_."

Jolted by this, Harry did the only thing he could think of — he ran, instinctively, to the only other place on Earth he could think of: number four, Privet Drive, the Dursleys' house.

No one would be here, he knew, as he appeared in the smallest bedroom, his own room away from Hogwarts for the past four years, since the first letter came from there, addressed to him in "The Cupboard under the Stairs," frightening his aunt and uncle into letting him have the room that had until then been reserved for Dudley's toys. It had made Dudley quite furious, and he'd bawled fake tears at his parents, trying to get it back, but to no avail. Harry had the room, but not that first letter, nor any of the hundred of subsequent letters delivered by as many owls, until finally on his eleventh birthday his letter from Hogwarts had been delivered personally by Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at the school.

Now he had been at the school for four years, and had been through a number of interesting and unusual events during that time, including meeting his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, his first day there; becoming a member of the House of Gryffindor and the Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team; he'd also met Professor Dumbledore, a very great wizard, as well as the teacher he hated most, Professor Snape, the school's Potions Master, and having his first (but really, second) encounter with Voldemort at the end of that first year. In the following years he'd also met his godfather, Sirius Black, who had been imprisoned in Azkaban prison for thirteen years, for a crime he didn't commit but escaped in order to do so; the man Black planned to kill, Peter Pettigrew, who'd spent all the time Sirius had been in prison in the form of fat rat owned first by Percy Weasley, one of Ron's older brothers, then Ron himself. He'd also met some interesting teachers, from his personal favorite, Remus Lupin, his third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to Gilderoy Lockhart, also a DADA professor but emphatically _not_ one of his favorites; Professor Minerva McGonagall, his stern but fair Transfigurations teacher and the Head of Gryffindor House; Professor Flitwick, the diminutive Charms teacher, and Professor Sprout, who taught Herbology.

It was strange, Harry reflected, looking around his room, that this place, where he'd never felt loved or included as part of a family, should be where he ran to so he could feel protected and safe. In reality, with his Star Brand there was no way he could ever be killed or even harmed; even without the Star Brand, if he were killed (which had happened, back in August, when he'd been tricked by Arthur, Molly and Ginny Weasley, who were all being controlled by Lucius Malfoy, using the Imperius Curse), the Star Brand's energies, infused into his body, would bring him back to life eventually. And the only way he could get rid of the Star Brand was to will it to move to some other person, or object, though only a living, sentient being could control its incalculable energies — placing it onto an inanimate object would cause to explode, vaporizing all matter within fifty miles of that object, including the being formerly wielding it. Eventually, however, the person would reform, and the Star Brand would reappear on them.

Harry wandered through the upstairs rooms: through Dudley's bedroom, with its television set and video game, the Smeltings hat and cane he always brought home during the holidays and strutted about with at home, because it made Vernon beam with pride at "his little man." He stood in the doorway of his aunt and uncle's room, careful even now not to enter; old habits died hard, as both Vernon and Petunia became very cross if they even suspected he'd been in their room (which Dudley always delighted in, by threatening to break something in there and blame it on him).

Walking down to the ground floor, he stood in the hallway, looking into the living room, back toward the kitchen and, under the staircase itself, the infamous cupboard he'd spent the first decade of his life in, as far back as he could remember. He thought of all the spiders and other insects he'd brushed out of his hair and off his face, and heaved a long, slow sigh.

"Harry." He whipped around, toward the living room, to find Riddle standing there regarding him with a look of almost-sympathy on his handsome face. "Why are you torturing yourself with these memories? These Muggles, your aunt, uncle and cousin, probably don't even care right now whether you're alive or dead."

Which was very probably true, Harry knew, but there was no reason to let Riddle know that. "That's better than wanting me dead, like you do," he retorted.

"I don't want you dead, Harry," Riddle shook his head. He looked saddened by Harry's hostility. It took all of Harry's will to remember that Riddle — _Voldemort_ — was very capable at bending people to his will and manipulating their emotions. As he had already learned, his mind could be deceived no matter how much power his body possessed.

"No," Harry sneered. "I'm sure _Lord Voldemort_ only wants what's best for everyone on Earth!"

The Dark Lord raised a finger in warning. "Haven't you learned to respect my name yet, Harry? Do not speak it again! I tell you that for the last time — use it again at your peril."

"Bullshit," Harry said, and Riddle's face hardened. White light burst from his body, and number four Privet Drive, and all the other houses on Privet Drive, and several blocks surrounding them, shattered into thousands of pieces, flying out and away from them, until they were surrounded by nothing but a few scraps of wood and masonry. Not a house was left standing for hundreds of yards in all directions. Harry looke around him, aghast at the destruction that had taken place in only a few seconds.

"_WHY_?" he screamed at Riddle. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!"

"What does it matter to you?" Riddle asked, indifferently. "No one was hurt, were they? Everyone is safe, somewhere. Not that we know or care where that is…"

"Damn you!" Harry shouted, hands instinctively balling into fists. "You don't need to destroy it all! It was my aunt and uncle's _home_!"

"And you hated them," Riddle said, with a dreadful laugh. "How many times have you wished them dead? How many times have you wanted to hurt them yourself, for all the times they neglected you, laughed at you, made you do their dirty work? And for what — a miserable bit of space beneath the stairs? No one would blame you for wanting them dead, Harry…"

"Stop it! STOP IT!!" Harry covered his ears, but Riddle's voice kept coming, directly into his mind.

"_They're only Muggles, Harry — not a person of power, like you, not even a wizard. You have to stop thinking in terms of the people who have the least use for you_ —"

Harry disappeared again. This time, he went as far as he could imagine going in one jump — to the far side of the moon. He appeared in darkness, his hands still covering his ears, even in the moon's vacuum. Riddle's voice had disappeared. For the moment, at least, he was alone again. Harry sat down, on the much-colder-than-ice-cold-rock, drawing his knees up and resting his head upon them. He literally did not know what to do next.

How was he going to defeat Riddle — _Voldemort_, he reminded himself again. Was such a thing even possible any more, now that they were both had the Star Brand? Connell had left him in a hell of a mess, and with his closest friends still at Hogwarts, Harry could not simply leave Earth — at least, not without taking them with him.

That was an idea, he realized. Presumably, Connell had put every living thing on Earth _somewhere_ — the trick would be to find out where they were and get himself and the six people still at Hogwarts there as well, without letting Voldemort know where they'd gone. But that was just problem delayed, not problem solved — Voldemort had all the time in the world to find them; no matter where they went, he would eventually catch up to them. No, running wasn't the solution.

Neither was fighting, Harry knew. It was already obvious that neither of them could harm the other, not with their Star Brands to protect them. But no one else still on Earth had that same protection! Connell had been right, Harry now saw, in removing all life from harm's way. The only thing Harry couldn't figure out now was, _why_ leave his friends and teachers at Hogwarts? Was it Connell's way of _forcing_ him to stay here, to come up with some way to beat Voldemort? If so, it wasn't working, Harry thought, bitterly. He still had no idea how to defeat the Dark Lord.

The only solution he could see was to get Voldemort to willingly give up the Star Brand, somehow. And if not to him, then to one of the six others Connell had left on Earth with him. But that was ridiculous — Voldemort would no more willingly give up the infinite power of the Star Brand than he would his own life — the Brand fulfilled both his dreams of immortality and absolute power. Though, Harry recalled once again, even _without_ the Brand Voldemort was now effectively immortal, just as Harry discovered he was when he woke up in his coffin in Godric's Hollow, on Christmas.

He would have to talk this over with Hermione. And Ron as well, he decided; Ron might see a solution to this problem that he and Hermione could miss. Concentrating for a moment, he created an area of Earthlike temperature and pressure around himself, about the size of a classroom at Hogwarts, filled it with Earth-normal atmosphere, then summoned his two best friends from Hogwarts Castle to him.

Whatever they had been doing, they were evidently together, and busy discussing something when they appeared. Both stopped suddenly, looking around in the sudden darkness (Harry had not thought to create any light sources within the environment — he hadn't needed any). "What the —" Ron blurted, looking around in surprise, as Hermione squinted, trying to get her eyes to adjust more quickly to the darkness. "Where'd the lights go?" Ron asked.

Harry, standing close to both of them, said softly, "It's me," and both Ron and Hermione jerked in surprise. "Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, as Harry caused a soft white glow from above to illuminate the three of them. None of their surroundings were yet visible in the dim light.

"Harry!" Hermione said, sounding vastly relieved to see him, whatever the circumstances, "I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you!" She looked around. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere out of the way," Harry said, being vague. "I needed to talk to both of you."

"You're not going to _believe_ what happened at the school!" Ron blurted, then blinked when both Harry and Hermione gave him sardonic looks. "Uh, unless you already know, that is."

"I know," Harry said, and filled them in on what had been happening between him, Voldemort and Connell over the past half-day, as well as the problem he was having trying to figure out what to do next. Ron looked flabbergasted by the idea that he was one of the last seven wizards left on Earth, but Hermione appeared intrigued by the implications.

"Connell must have planned something involving us, Harry," she said, adamantly. "Why else would he have left us so unprotected?"

"I don't _know_," Harry replied, just as insistently. "Whatever his plan was, it didn't work, and he suddenly just skulkered off, like some tosser."

"There must be a reason for it," Hermione repeated.

"You keep _saying_ that," Ron pointed out. "But what _difference_ does it make, if we can't _see_ it? Speaking of that," he added, looking around into the darkness surrounding them, "Harry, where are we? I can't see a bloody thing around me!"

"Language," Hermione said, automatically, then looked around as well, finally noticing the ground, faintly illuminated by the diffuse lighting Harry was creating above them. "Interesting," she said absently, kneeling down to touch the ground. "This is unusual-looking ground below us. I don't recognize it."

"You probably wouldn't," Harry smiled thinly. "We're on the moon."

"You're joking!" Ron exclaimed.

"Really?" Hermione said, standing again. "Give us some more light, will you, Harry — I want to look at something."

"Wait a minute," Harry said, annoyed by her distraction. "We're not here to talk about moon rocks, Hermione! I'm trying to figure out what to do here, and I need your help!"

"But something isn't right!" she insisted. "This ground doesn't look like the lunar surface."

"Oh, rubbish," Ron said, dismissively. "How would you even know what the moon looks like, up close? Did you fly up here one afternoon while we were all off having a kip or something?"

"Don't be silly, Ronald," she retorted archly. "For your information, I've studied the moon quite extensively. Did you know that normal humans visited the moon before any of us were even _born_?"

"That'd be pretty barmy of them," Ron sniffed. "What'd they do once they got here — collect rocks?"

"Exactly!" Hermione said, triumphantly. "And they did a lot of experiments and exploring, so I know a lot about the moon — and this doesn't look right," she said, pointing to the ground below them.

"Fine," Harry said, now thoroughly irritated by the _non sequitur_ conversation. "You want me to prove this is the moon? Here you go!" They disappeared in three flashes of light, appearing a moment later on the opposite side of the moon, still with the protective shell of pressurized atmosphere around them.

Harry looked around the sky for a moment, then pointed toward the partially-lighted blue sphere hanging above them. "Look — see? There's there Earth. Now do you believe we're on the moon?"  
But Hermione was still looking around as if unconvinced. "Something's still not right, Harry. This is not how the lunar surface should appear. It's too dark."

"I don't know what you mean," Harry said, perplexed and confused by the continuing distraction. "I think it's pretty damned bright out here, if you ask me!" They were all standing in direct sunlight; only Harry's rigid control of the temperature and atmosphere around them was keeping Ron and Hermione alive.

Ron, who'd been looking around while waiting for Harry and Hermione to resolve their quarrel, suddenly pointed toward something on the horizon, coming toward them. "What's that?"

Both Harry and Hermione looked. "That's strange," Hermione mused, after a moment. "It _looks_ like a dust storm. But how could there be a dust storm on an airless world?"

Harry, who had no idea, either, suddenly remembered. "Oh yeah — when Voldemort and I were fighting, I threw him into the moon really hard, and it kicked up a huge explosion. I suppose that's the dust, spreading out from the spot where he hit."

"Whatever it is," Ron remarked, watching its approach, "it's coming at us awfully fa—" and indeed, his last word was drowned out as the wall of onrushing dust slammed into their environmental bubble, making it ring like a bell. Everything outside was obscured by the howling, drumming wind.

"Listen!" Hermione shouted. "Hear that? It's the wind. The _wind_!"

"So what?" Ron, covering his ears against the sound, shouted back.

"So there _no air_ on the moon, silly!" she shouted back. "Therefore we _can't_ be on the moon!"

"But if there was an explosion, like Harry said," Ron argued, "there wouldn't need to be air! The dust would be moving by itself!" Harry nodded; he had to admit that Ron had a point there.

"Besides," he said loudly, pointing upwards, "we saw the Earth in the sky above us!" The storm had nearly died away. "And you know what they say: Seeing is believing."

"Indeed they do say that," someone else spoke, in a high, clear voice. "And I see that you're a liar, Harry Potter."

Harry's blood froze. Voldemort — here! He whirled at lightning speed to touch both of his friends and teleport away, but a field of force had formed around each of them, keeping them separate. Voldemort stood a dozen feet away, just outside Harry's environmental bubble, smiling triumphantly.

"I warned you about saying my name again, didn't I?" he chided Harry, wagging a finger at him and clucking disapprovingly. "I've made it Taboo—no one will be able to say it without letting me know exactly where they are.

"And I see we are _not_ alone," he continued, passing through the wall of atmosphere, moving closer to the trio. "In spite of what you said, earlier, Harry — tsk, tsk! Such a little _liar_ you are! What should your punishment for lying be, I wonder?"

Voldemort stared at Harry's two best friend silently for several moments, letting Harry imagine what terrible tortures he might put them through. Suddenly, he raised his hands, and two beams of white-hot energy shot from them, striking Hermione and Ron. In twin blasts of light, they both vanished without a trace.

"NOOOOOO!!" Harry screamed, beating his arms against the wall of force holding him prisoner, until it suddenly collapsed, and he along with it, falling to the ground. He lay there, curled into a ball, not wanting to move or think, for how long he did not know, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, though hot tears of despair and grief leaked through them. _He_ had pulled Hermione and Ron out of the safety of Hogwarts! It was _his_ fault they were dead.

"Come now, Potter," he heard Voldemort say, as from a great distance, though he knew the Dark Lord was mere feet from him. "You're only making this more difficult on yourself, with your continued interest in lower life forms. You are a _god_. Free your mind from the weakness of your emotional attachments — you will never realize your potential if you continue to associate with such filth."

Harry's anger was rising at Voldemort's words, but the grief was still overwhelming. "I'm — not like you," he finally whispered. "I'm not some monster who's ripped his soul into tatters trying to live forever."

Voldemort chuckled, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice as he said, "So you know about my other Horcruxes, then?"

"I know you created as many as six," Harry said, finally looking up at the Dark Lord, loathing in his green eyes. "You hinted at it yourself, in the graveyard in Little Hangleton— 'I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality,' you said."

"You remember that, do you?" Voldemort sneered. He laughed, a sound that filled Harry with inexplicable dread. "Well, it is no matter now — they are no longer needed, now that I have this." He held his hand out, palm forward, showing Harry the Star Brand. "But you will never know what my trophies are — I have them too well protected."

Harry laughed, in spite of the grief gripping him. "I've already destroyed one! Your diary! Lucius Malfoy used it to get the Chamber of Secrets opened again, but I destroyed it, with a broken fang of the Basilisk, which I killed with the Sword of Gryffindor!"

Voldemort's handsome face twisted again in anger, but he merely shrugged. "I can create a thousand Basilisks now, if I desire — your victory was a hollow one, Potter." He grinned suddenly, savagely baring his white, perfect teeth in an ugly rictus. "And that reminds me — while you were lying there feeling sorry for yourself," he went on, mockingly. "I discovered a few more things from your thoughts.

"Besides your two friends, there are several other people still at Hogwarts. Oh, there's no use lying —" He waved off Harry's violent headshake "— I _know_ they are there, Potter! I am looking forward to seeing my old friend, Albus Dumbledore again. I think I will see how long he can withstand the Cruciatus Curse until he goes mad, before I kill him."

Harry leapt at him, but a barrier of force appeared around him, imprisoning him again. He willed it to be gone, but Voldemort's power matched his — they were stalemated. "You can't touch me, Harry, any more than I can harm you," the Dark Lord pointed out, as Harry ground his teeth in frustration. "But I can bring harm — much harm — to your friends, unless you agree to stand with me, and help me return our kind to the Earth."

"Never," Harry gritted, knowing he was doomed. "I will never help you."

Voldemort smiled cruelly. "You will have no choice, Harry Potter. You have already shown you are too weak to do otherwise."

"My friends —" Harry began, fiercely, but his words died in his throat at Voldemort's barking laugh.

"Your friends? Those pathetic weaklings are _nothing_ compared to me, boy!" Voldemort roared. "A bumbling, inept old fool and his witless followers. Even Snape — who was my primary operative inside Hogwarts, by the way — is no longer any use to me, now that I have the Star Brand in my possession! Now, Potter, you'd better consider coming around to my way of thinking, and quickly, too — before all of the people left on this world end up like your first two friends — _dead_. "

"The rumors of our death were exaggerated," a new voice said, and both Harry and Voldemort looked around quickly. Hermione and Ron were both standing several feet away — alive!

"What is this?" Voldemort snarled, looking back at Harry. "What trickery are you up to —?" But Harry only shook his head, a grin of pure joy spreading across his face. _His friends were alive_!

What's more, they were not gasping for breath, even though there was no Earthlike-environment surrounding them. "How did you…" Harry began, looking at them, and Hermione held up her hand, showing him her palm.

She had the Star Brand.

Ron raised his hand a moment later; he, too, had a Star Brand.

Jolted, Harry asked, "How?"

"I don't know," Hermione shook her head, as she and Ron moved, to set up a triangle of them and Harry, with Voldemort in the center. The Dark Lord appeared as stunned as Harry did; he watched silently as Hermione continued. "When What's-His-Name here hit us with those blasts of energy, we were both knocked thousands of miles away, into space.

"When I finally realized I wasn't dying from the cold or airlessness, I began thinking about why, and when I looked at my palm I found the Star Brand there. I don't remember it being there before. Anyway, I imagined myself back at Hogwarts, and there I was.

"Then," she continued, "I Summoned Ron, who was still out in space, trying to figure out why _he_ wasn't dead."

"I would have worked it out, eventually," Ron muttered, sounding a bit put out with her telling of the event.

"I'm sure you would have, Ronald," Hermione replied, in a clearly skeptical tone. "Anyway, once we discovered Ron had the Star Brand as well, we decided to find you and help you, Harry."

Voldemort, standing in the middle of the trio, snorted derision, but Harry could see doubt on his handsome face. The only thing Voldemort respected was power, Harry now understood, and because it was unclear how his two friends had acquired their Star Brands, it was possible the balance of power had tipped their way. "Help Potter? Don't be ridiculous, girl! You do not face some unsure schoolboy, but the Dark Lord himself! Even the three of you will prove to be no match for me!"

"What about the rest of us?" Hermione asked, plaintively. There were more flashes of light around them, and the four teachers from Hogwarts appeared, completing the circle about Voldemort: Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick and Snape now faced him as well. Each one held up their right hand, showing the Dark Lord the Star Brand symbol etched into their palms.

"Greetings, Tom," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "I hope you don't mind us joining you."

"Not that it would matter if he did, Albus," McGonagall added tartly, giving Riddle a very stern look; something Harry imagined she had wanted to do for a very long time. "He has quite a lot to answer for."

"Indeed, Minerva!" Flitwick agreed, in his squeaky voice. "Indeed he does!"

Voldemort was giving each new arrival a moment of attention, staring at each of them in turn, as if taking their measure. Harry thought he might be estimating his odds of winning in a confrontation with everyone there. If there was going to be a fight, Harry decided, _this_ would be the best place for it — hundreds of thousands of miles from Earth. He had no idea how much damage eight people with Star Brand could wreak, much less two, but Connell had thought that the three of them (him, Harry and Voldemort) had enough firepower to destroy the Earth!

"Et tu, Severus?" Voldemort's eyes had finally fallen on Snape. "Are even _you_ going to turn against me, now that I am outnumbered?"

"I have not been _with_ you for a long time, now," Snape said, coldly. "Not since —" he suddenly cut himself off, and Voldemort smiled.

"Not since I killed Lily Potter, is that what you were going to say, Severus?" Voldemort sneered. He glanced at Harry. "Did the boy know you loved his mother, even though she was a Mudblood?"

"Don't call her that!" Harry said angrily.

"It's true enough!" Voldemort snapped in reply. "Even so, I would have spared her life had she stepped aside and let me deal with you in my own way, Potter! It is _your_ fault that she's dead!"

"That's a crock of shit!" Harry blazed. "_You're_ the one who killed her, you bastard!" Without thinking, his hand shot out and a wall of force surrounded Voldemort, trapping him.

"Everybody hold him like I'm doing!" Harry shouted, and six more walls of energy wrapped themselves around the Dark Lord, even as Harry willed the spherical volume of space within a hundred miles of them to be incapable of teleporting through. If they couldn't destroy Voldemort now, perhaps the seven of them could find a way to _trap_ him.

"_Fools_!" Voldemort shouted, attempting to penetrate the walls of force with blasts of energy — but the shields seemed to be capable of handling the energy blasting against them. "You dare attack the Dark Lord?! You will all suffer endless torment for this!"

"You're wrong, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly, over Voldemort's rants. "As you can see, our power exceeds yours — you cannot best us."

"I will keep fighting until I do!" Voldemort swore. "That is the difference between myself and a weak fool like you, Dumbledore! I will keep on fighting until I win!"

"So will I!" shouted Harry.

"And I! And I!" chorused Ron and Hermione.

"As will all of us," Dumbledore added. "Moreover, Tom, you are not impervious to threats yourself, Tom. If you continue to fight us, we will destroy your one remaining Horcrux."

Voldemort looked shocked, but for only a moment; then he was once again his arrogant self. "You are lying, old man — you do not even know where they are!"

"Ah, but we do, Tom," Dumbledore averred. "In fact, we have collected them all — they are even now on display in the Entrance Hall, back at Hogwarts. They are all destroyed, save one."

Harry blinked in surprise. How had Dumbledore managed _that_, he wondered. The last he remembered, the headmaster was not even sure of how many Horcruxes there were! The Dark Lord was equally surprised, for he had stopped trying to break free of the walls of force surrounding him.

"I — _demand_ — that you show them to me," Voldemort said. "To prove what you've said is true!"

"Will you stop fighting us?" McGonagall asked.

"I will not resist," Voldemort said, not quite answering her question, "once you prove to me you have my trophies."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, and turned to Harry. "Will you allow us to teleport to Earth, Harry?"

Harry considered their options. He didn't feel very good about this — bringing Voldemort back to Earth was a risky proposition — and he didn't trust the Dark Lord's word at all. But while he was within the force walls he seemed to be contained. He finally nodded slowly, and the eight of them disappeared in a single flash of light.

A moment later they appeared in the Entrance Hall at the school. A plinth had been set up in the center of the room. On top of the plinth Harry could see several objects — at least one he recognized, the ruined diary of T. M. Riddle that had become Lord Voldemort's first Horcrux, and was the first one destroyed, a little over three years ago, at the end of Harry's second year.

Around the base of the plinth was wrapped a large, green snake, its head removed and lying beside the body in a puddle of slimy-looking blood. That must be Voldemort's snake, Nagini, Harry realized. On the plinth itself, around the ruined diary were several objects; they, too, had suffered damage, Harry could see. There was a double-handled golden cup, a hole driven through it; next to that, a gold ring set with a single, black stone, that was cracked down the middle; beside that, a tarnished tiara that had been cut into several pieces. The final object, a heavy gold locket, was the only item that appeared intact.

Voldemort's reaction upon seeing these objects was startling. His eyes appeared ready to burst from their sockets, his teeth set on edge, and he was breathing heavily. "Sacrilege," he whispered raggedly.

"As you can see," Dumbledore said, in a mild tone that seemed completely oblivious to Voldemort's reaction, "the only Horcrux left is the locket, which we could not open and which the Sword of Gryffindor could not penetrate."

"Why have you done this thing?" Voldemort whispered tightly, staring at the ruined trophies that had held bits of his soul, that he had worked so hard to collect, those many years ago. "While I possess the Star Brand, destroying these objects was pointless, useless…"

"That should be obvious, Tom," Dumbledore replied. "We wanted to force your cooperation."

"You expect me to cooperate now, after — after _this_?" Voldemort hissed, sweeping a hand toward the plinth. "I cannot even be sure they were mine — you may have created duplicates, somehow, and are attempting to deceive me!"

"They are real, I assure you," Dumbledore stated, with conviction.

"Prove it," Voldemort demanded. "Let me touch them. Then I will know."

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Approach the plinth."

Voldemort walked toward the plinth, and the wall of force expanded to encircle it so that Voldemort could approach. He stopped for a moment in front of the snake, looking at it, then turned his attention to the items in front of him.

Reaching out, he passed his left hand slowly over each of the objects in turn: the diary, the cup, the ring and the tiara. Finally, his hand moved over the heavy gold locket, and Voldemort smiled. The locket leapt up, into his grasp, and Voldemort turned to Dumbledore, saying, "You fool!"

Harry groan inwardly. Too late, he'd realized their mistake — while Voldemort had been isolate inside the force walls, he'd been unable to play his final trump card — of transferring the Star Brand to an inanimate object and initiating a sphere of annihilation that could vaporize them all! None of them would die, but Voldemort would escape!

Dumbledore had evidently realized his blunder as well; he was trying to convince Voldemort not to go through with it. "Tom, you will gain nothing by vaporizing us all — there are no life forms left on Earth to mutate, and none of us will die."

"Perhaps not," Voldemort shrugged, his right hand, with the Star Brand in the palm, about to clutch the locket dangling from his left hand. "But perhaps the explosion will encompass much more than a fifty-mile radius — perhaps I will pour enough energy into this locket, that still contains my soul — I can sense its presence! — to destroy Earth itself. Then where will we all end up?"

"Even you would not do that horrific a thing, Tom," Dumbledore stated. "Earth is your home as well, along with your human brethren."

"Bah," Voldemort snorted. "I call no place home. I call no man brother. You should know these things, Dumbledore — didn't you make a 'special study' of me, back in my Hogwarts days?"

"I had hoped you did not really believe such things, Tom," Dumbledore said, looking sad. "I hoped it was simply a remnant of your upbringing in that orphanage, that the fellowship of Hogwarts would change your mind."

Voldemort grinned. "Your hope was in vain, old man." He grasped the locket in his right hand, and light flashed fiercely between his clenched fingers. Harry winced, wondering if he would feel the white-hot flash that would vaporize them, and how much of the Earth would disappear along with them.

Nothing happened.

After several moments, Voldemort opened his hand, looking at the locket in his palm, then held it up so that it dangled in the air above his palm, which was now devoid of any symbol. On the back of the locket, Harry could see the Star Brand emblazoned there as it slowly swiveled round and around.

"Where — where's the kaboom?" Voldemort said, confused. "There was supposed to be an Earth-shattering kaboom." Suddenly the locket, and the other Horcruxes as well, disappeared in six flashes of light. Then Hermione, Ron and the teachers disappeared as well. A moment later there was another flash of light, and from it appeared — Kenneth Connell.

"Hoist by your own petard," he said smugly, to Voldemort. Turning to Harry, he said _sotto voce_, "I've always wanted to say that to someone!" He raised his right hand, showing both of them the star-shaped symbol that was now there. "The Star Brand can never be taken — only given. And you have given it back to me, Tom Riddle. Thank you!"

Voldemort growled deep in his throat, but before he could do anything else Connell wrapped him in a wall of force, turned to Harry and said, "Be back in a moment," and the two men disappeared, leaving Harry alone.

But before Harry could so much as wonder where they had gone, Connell had returned. "And that is that," he said, rubbing his hands together briskly. "Harry, you did quite well by yourself against Voldemort, I must say."

"What did you do with him?" Harry asked curiously. "And how did you keep that locket from exploding and taking us all with it? I thought we were all going to be vaporized when he grabbed it."

"Oh, it was simple enough," Connell said, walking toward the doors leading to the Great Hall. Before he reached them, they opened of their own accord, and Harry and Ken strode into the Hall and over to the end of the Gryffindor Table, where they both sat down facing one another. A large golden plate appeared in front of Connell, filled with a sizzling beefsteak, a steaming baked potato, filled with butter and sour cream, and a mound of green beans and two thick slices of Texas toast. A frosty mug of beer appeared next to the plate, along with a steak knife, fork and cloth napkin. Ken picked up the napkin, unfolding it, and placed it in his lap.

"I hope you don't mind if I have something to eat while we talk, Harry," he said, cutting into the steak and taking a bite. "I feel like rewarding myself after all that. Maybe you should have something as well?"

"Maybe in a bit," Harry said, impatient to hear what Connell had done. "So what's the story?"

"Oh, it was simple," Connell said again, nibbling on a piece of toast. "I was the locket."

"What?" Harry said, surprised, then realized what he meant. "Oh, I get it — you were Transfigured to look like that locket!"

"Pretty much," Connell agreed, "though it's a bit more complicated than that." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold locket, dropping it onto the table between them.

Harry looked at it, then back at Connell. "But what if he'd picked up one of the other objects?"

"I was actually all of them, and the snake as well," Connell made surprising reply. "But only the locket is still a Horcrux. I thought it would be possible for Voldemort to sense his soul within it, so I kept the real locket hidden within me as I duplicated its appearance. Voldemort didn't really believe he had a soul for a long time, but he could detect a bit of himself in his Horcruxes, and I expect he decided that, if he was going to vaporize himself and all of you with him, he might has well do it with the one Horcrux he had left, if they were all going to be destroyed anyway."

"How did you find all of his Horcruxes?" Harry wanted to know. "Professor Dumbledore has been trying to figure out how many he made, but you had all of them! And where did Hermione and the others go? And why did you put them in such danger?!" He was suddenly angry at Connell again.

"They were never here, Harry," Connell said. "My apologies, once again, for letting you believe they were, but I wanted Voldemort to accept your memories as real, and I know you have difficulty with your Occlumency."

Harry nodded grudging agreement. "So what were they?" he asked.

"They were all manifestations of my thoughts," Ken said. "Shells of living tissue activated and controlled by my mind. I believe I did a convincing job of acting like them — you seem to have been convinced they were real, weren't you?"

"I was," Harry said. "So much so that I was devastated when Hermione and Ron were 'killed' by Voldemort."

"Again, my apologies, Harry," Ken said, sincerely. "I needed to convince Voldemort that I had tried to trick him, had failed, then left Earth with everyone except your closest friends and most respected teachers to help you defeat him. To do that, I needed you to really believe that was what was going on. In reality, Hermione and Ron, and everyone else is safe and sound, back on Earth."

"What?" Harry asked, not sure he'd heard correctly. "Did you say 'back on Earth?'"

"Yes," Connell nodded, taking a long drink of beer. He set it down again and said, "We are not on Earth right now."

Harry was shaking his head, confused. "But I saw it from the moon! How could we not be on Earth right now?"

"I didn't want to put your world in such danger, exposing it to a full-scale battle of Star Brands. I was not exaggerating, earlier — it would be easy to destroy entire cities, entire _continents_, in seconds with the power of the Brand.

"I knew I could never lure Voldemort away from Earth; he would never willingly give up the leverage inherent in the hostages he could take and hold over you, once he realized that your Star Brands were evenly matched. So I took steps to create a duplicate Earth-Moon system, on the opposite side of the sun, and brought the two of you here while you were engaged in battle at the White House."

"I remember!" Harry said. "It went from sunset to morning — Voldemort thought you'd moved us in time, but it had been in space!"

"Correct," Connell smiled.

"But — _how_?" Harry wondered. "How could you have created this world so quickly, from nothing?" Is the Star Brand _that_ powerful?

"It's as powerful as you can imagine it to be," Connell said, but in fact I cheated a bit. There were two perfectly good planets already orbiting the sun; I just took advantage of them. This is actually the planet Venus — for the moon I used Mercury."

"Whoa," Harry gasped. "It looked exactly like Earth from the moon — I mean, from Mercury — er, or whatever," he finished, still awed by the power it must have taken. "Everything seems exactly the same."

"It is," Connell said. "I picked up some things from all of those magic books I've been reading, Harry — some changes to the _Geminio_ spell, and applying some principles used by the Polyjuice Potion — and of course, adapting for the scale — I was able to create an exact duplicate of the Earth on the surface of Venus, down to every geographical feature and every building.

"I did the same to Mercury for the lunar surface, but I left one subtle clue for you — the atmosphere of Mercury, which is very tenuous, and the composition of its crust, which differentiates it from the lunar surface."

"Is that what Hermione was trying to tell me?" Harry asked, then realized, "— er, I mean, what _you_ were trying to tell me, I guess?"

"Yes, I was trying to be subtle," Connell chuckled. "I guess I should have been a bit more obvious, eh?"

"I was pretty distracted," Harry said, plaintively. "So what did you do with Voldemort?"

"I sent him away," Connell said, then cut off a large piece of steak and spent the next several moments chewing it, driving Harry to distraction while he waited for the man to continue. "Far, far away," Connell finished, finally, swallowing the meat.

"Yes, but _how_?" Harry wanted to know. "Did you use the Star Brand power on him — well, obviously, you did!"

"I did, but indirectly," Connell explained. "I found that the aliens who came to Earth in my universe also came here (or rather, there) in this one. However, here they were a bit more subtle; the probe they used to scan Earth was in at the L5 point in Earth's orbit, rather than orbiting Earth itself, as it was in mine."

"Okay, I don't know about that 'L5' stuff," Harry said, shaking his head. "What does that mean in English?"

It means that the probe was further from Earth, so the effect of its exotic radiation on Earth's flora and fauna was diminished to a large extent." Connell was giving Harry a strange look. "However, it has been observing and irradiating your world for the past several thousand years; I believe that the radiation was the cause of magical ability in Earth humans here."

Harry sat still for several moments, letting that percolate down into his brain. "Are you saying that some people here can do magic because that alien probe has been watching us for a long time?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying," Connell agreed.

After several seconds of thought, Harry finally shrugged. "If you say so," he said. "Anyway, what does this probe have to do with Voldemort?"

"Well, the aliens who came to my Earth used the teleportation drive of their ship to transport me to the Andromeda Galaxy, several million light-years away," Connell went on. "I took Voldemort up to the probe at Earth's L5 point, supercharged it with energy from the Star Brand, and used it to teleport him even further. How far he went, even I don't know, nor in what direction he was sent, so there's no way for him to find his way back here."

Harry thought for a moment. "That seems more like problem delayed than problem solved," he observed. "After all, _you_ made you way back, eventually — why wouldn't _he_?"

"Because I also cast an _Obliviate_ spell on him," Connell replied. "Backed by all the power of the Star Brand, and then implanted the thought that he was a wanderer looking for interesting things and events. I scanned his mind after I wiped it clean, and he had no memory of his life as Tom Riddle or the evil that he wrought as Lord Voldemort."

Harry sighed in relief, but there was a part of him that paradoxically felt concern for the former Dark Lord. "That seems for the best, I suppose, but I wonder if there'd been a way we could have allowed him to stay — here, on this world, perhaps."

"I considered that as well," Connell replied quietly, looking directly into Harry's eyes. "But while he was anywhere near Earth, even almost 190 million miles from it, on the opposite side of the sun, he posed a threat to everyone there. The _Obliviate_ spell is powerful, but it only suppresses the memories, it does not remove them. It is possible Riddle will someday remember his former life as Voldemort. I would prefer he was on the opposite side of the Virgo supercluster when he does!"

Harry nodded in agreement, smiling, but quickly turned serious when a thought occurred to him. "Wait a mo' — I just realized — if we've been here, on the opposite side of the sun, what's been going on back on the real Earth? The last thing Voldemort did before you brought him here was to reveal the existence of the Wizarding World to the normal humans!"

"I haven't forgotten that, Harry," Connell told him. The big man laid a hand gently on Harry's shoulder. "I'm glad you haven't, either." He smiled. "I'm glad to see that was not mistaken in giving you the Star Brand."

"Even if I did mess things up by letting Voldemort get a hold of it as well?" Harry asked, wryly.

"Not your fault," Connell shook his head. "I should have given you more training — after all, I've had it for thousands of years, the things I do come as second nature to me. I shouldn't have expected you to just understand what it was all about without some help."

"Speaking of help, we ought to do something about all the wizards on Earth who will now have to go completely underground to avoid persecution or exploitation by Muggles," Harry said anxiously, thinking about Hermione, Ron and his other friends, who would now have to spend the rest of their lives hiding, instead of being free to walk about in the world…

…In the world…

Harry grabbed Connell's arm, excited by the thought he'd just had. "Listen! What if we brought them all _here_?"

Connell looked at him a moment, then smiled broadly. "That's a very clever solution, Harry!" His smiled faded a bit, however, and he continued, "but do you think it wise to separate humanity into Muggles and Wizard-kind? That might drive an even deeper wedge between them, provoking even more hostility when they eventually meet again at some point in the future."

Harry thought furiously for what seemed like a long time. "I can't see any other way," he finally admitted. "Wizards have kept their existence secret from humans for several hundred years now — we were widely regarded as being make-believe, and most magical creatures were considered mythical or legendary. Now, that our existence has been revealed again, I don't know how we could undo that, except by casting an _Obliviate_ spell on every Muggle on Earth."

"I would resist that idea," Connell said. "It would be possible, of course, with the power of the Star Brand, but it would be better if we could simply inform them that all Wizards had been rounded up and taken into custody by the various Earth governments."

Harry gave him a skeptical look. "I don't know if that's problem solved, either," he said. "People would still know that wizards existed."

"Yes," agreed Connell. "But they won't be able to find any — they will all be on _this_ world, remember? Eventually they will be thought of as an extinct offshoot of _Homo sapiens_ — which can only work in your favor, since people tend to feel guilty when mankind has caused damage to the natural order."

"But," Harry objected. "You told me wizards _aren't_ part of the natural order; they were created by the radiation from the alien probe, thousands of years ago!"

"Nobody knows that but me and you, Harry," Connell reminded him. "Besides, I can stop the probe from scanning Earth, so its radiation will no longer cause the mutation that gives rise to wizards among humankind."

"So when can we move everyone here?" Harry asked.

"The sooner the better," Connell said. "Why don't we get started right now?" Harry nodded, and the two of them disappeared in twin flashes of light.

***

They accomplished it all within a week, moving the entire magical population of Earth across the solar system to the new Earth-like planet on the opposite side of the sun. In all, Harry estimated there were nearly three million people now on _Terra_, as their new home had been christened by Connell, to distinguish it from the original planet Earth.

The transportation of over three million wizards and their families was actually the easiest part of the operation — the hard part came afterwards, when it was time to explain to everyone what had happened. For it seemed to all the witches and wizards, who had found themselves suddenly hunted and hounded by a society that never noticed them before, that almost everyone on the planet had disappeared. The roving crowds of angry citizens, the ridiculous "wizard-buster" Divine Response Squad, who supposedly fought wizards with holy symbols and blessed water, as if they were movie vampires, were all gone.

Not all wizards, it turned out, wanted to leave Earth; some, especially some pure-bloods whose businesses involved interaction with (and in some cases the exploitation of) Muggles, were loathe to leave, even though their lives and jobs were now in a state of extreme flux due to Voldemort's revelation to the Muggle world of wizard-kind's existence. Harry and Ken had unilaterally decided that all wizards should be sent to Terra, if only to protect them from their own short-sightedness, and from unsympathetic Muggles, who would turn them over to their governments if they were discovered.

Most witches and wizards, however, were delighted at the idea of living completely separate from Muggles, with whom they had little in common anyway. Muggle-borns, Harry found, were the most diverse in terms of opinion — they were happy at the idea of no longer feeling like they were strangers among their own kind, part of a world that did not understand or want them; but also sad to leave the non-magical behind: the many conveniences of modern living that they took for granted would no longer be as readily available on Terra, unless they took steps to provide for themselves. Television, motion pictures, modern railways, automobiles, and even many common appliances such as refrigerators and stoves, cassette and CD players, would not be present there, at least initially.

All magical beings and other fantastic beings had been brought to Terra as well: Dragons, hippogriffs, kelpies, kneazles, leprechauns, as well as the centaurs and merpeople living near Hogwarts and elsewhere, had been placed in the same location on Terra they'd been found on Earth. In most cases they had no idea a change had even taken place. The centaurs were a notable exception to this: they had discerned the changes in the celestial spheres almost immediately.

Harry and Connell appeared to the various magical governments across Europe and Asia, informing them of what had taken place and giving them the opportunity to present the news to their constituency. Many of the governments were grateful for the deliverance from the unruly mobs of Muggles, as well as the few wizards who had collaborated with Voldemort against their kind; those wizards, needless to say, had quickly disavowed any alliance to Voldemort once they learned he was no longer in charge and was now gone without a trace.

Only a few Wizarding governments were not satisfied with the new arrangements — the Ministry of Magic being one of them. Having met with the other governments, and addressed or responded to their concerns, Harry and Connell met with the Wizengamot on New Year's Day, 1996, at the Ministry's headquarters in a curiously empty London.

Once again in Courtroom Ten, the fifty or so members of the Wizengamot now faced both Harry and Connell, who sat casually in the large iron-bound chair in the center of the courtroom, while Harry, who felt much less nervous now than he had the first time here, waited quietly in an overstuffed chair he'd created while the members of the Wizengamot slowly filled the chamber. Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge once again took the center seat, flanked by Dolores Umbridge and Malfada Hopkirk, who Harry recognized as the witch from the Improper Use of Magic Office who had sent him the owl posts about his use of the Patronus Charm, when he'd saved Dudley and himself from dementors.

Fudge, glowering unpleasantly at Harry and Connell as they sat watching the Wizengamot preparing to argue with them for having saved all of their lives, was beginning to remind Harry more and more of his Uncle Vernon, though the portly little gray-haired man hardly resembled his large, beefy uncle at all.

"Shall we get started?" Fudge finally said impatiently, looking around at the other members of the Wizengamot, who were talking quietly amongst themselves. The murmuring died down, and he cleared his throat importantly, glancing toward the end of the row, where Harry saw a nervous Percy Weasley, quill in hand, ready to record the proceedings.

"This hearing of the Wizengamot shall come to order," Fudge said, as Percy began writing furiously. "To consider whether Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, acted improperly and without permission in forcibly removing all members of the Wizengamot from their lawful residences, to similar locations on a planet it is claimed is in orbit about the sun opposite the Earth."

A crooked smile began to spread across Harry's face. Put that way, he realized, it was hard to believe — until you looked at the constellations at night and realized they were out of position by 180 degrees. "Are they really serious about this?" Connell asked Harry, in a bored tone.

"Silence, Mr. —" Fudge glared at Connell, then rummaged momentarily through his papers. "— Mr. Connell, you have not been asked yet to speak on the defendant's behalf."

"Please excuse my impropriety, Minister Fudge," Connell said blandly, and Fudge harrumphed pompously, then turned back to Harry.

"What do you have to say about this, Mr. Potter?" Fudge demanded. "Why was the Wizengamot not consulted about this action? And why have you been in contact with the various Wizarding governments of Europe, Asia and Africa before coming to us? By what right did you take this unlawful and preemptive action, rather than make petition to the Ministry for permission to remove all of our citizenry from Earth and put them — here?"

"First of all," Harry pointed out. "None of you would even know you weren't on Earth if the centaurs hadn't told you."

"You're out of order!" Fudge snarled. "The Ministry was well aware of the move — we merely consulted with the centaurs to confirm our hypothesis!" Harry smirked at this obvious lie. "Do you deny breaking Wizarding law and protocol by bringing us here?"  
"I doubt anyone would think it against the law to save the lives of all the wizards on Earth, including those in the Ministry," Harry retorted, and Dolores Umbridge leaned forward, her round eyes glaring malevolently at Harry.

Fudge saw her lean forward and said, "The Chair recognizes Dolores Jane Umbridge, Head Auror!"

"Thank you, Minister," Umbridge tittered in her little-girl voice. "So, Mr. Potter," she said, her tone dripping sweetness and venom, "it is your contention that your actions were done to save our lives?"

"Yes," Harry said shortly. He did not like this woman, in a way that had nothing to do with her toadish looks or her high-pitched, little-girly voice. She was, he felt, simply evil.

"What about the roughly three hundred and fifty citizens of Wizarding Great Britain who were killed during the riots that broke out after the American Senator, Thomas Riddle, announced the existence of the Wizarding world to the United Nations?" Umbridge asked, pointedly. "What about _their_ lives?"

"Nothing could be done about them," Harry said heavily. "I was unaware of those deaths, or the deaths of Wizarding folks in Paris, Lisbon, Bonn, Johannesburg, or Bejing."

"If you couldn't protect them then," Umbridge asked, her eyes gleaming with malice, "why should we believe you can protect us _now_? Why should we believe you even _want_ to?"

"You can believe that," Harry said, his voice tight with anger, "because we brought you here, instead of leaving you on Earth for the authorities to pick up and turn over to the government. You would not have survived a week there."

"And I suppose you _would_ have," Fudge smirked, "without these so-called Star Brand powers you say you possess."

"Moreover," Umbridge went on, as if Fudge hadn't spoken, "it seems as if you have kidnapped us from our rightful place. Earth is our home, not this — this — _alien_ world…"

"If it's really just a matter of being allowed to go back to Earth," Connell spoke up. "I don't think Harry or I would have an objection to that."

"You wouldn't? Really?" Umbridge smiled. "I don't know if we can believe this, however, since you forced everyone to come here, whether they wanted to or not! I must say, this is rather disingenuous of you, Mr. Connell."

"Would you like to return to Earth, Madam Auror?" Connell asked her. "It would be simple to arrange. Your magical powers, however, will remain here."

"…_What_ did you say?" Umbridge looked at him, completely nonplussed.

"I can send you back to Earth," Connell repeated for her. "But your magical powers will remain here."

"Preposterous!" Umbridge sputtered. "Nothing can remove a wizard's natural ability except for the rare evolutionary throwback that produces a Squib!"

"Would you care to test that hypothesis?" Connell asked. "Surely you cannot be so dim as to believe that I can move every wizard on Earth almost 200 million miles across space, but am incapable of removing your magical powers."

"Our powers are intrinsic," Umbridge insisted, her high voice becoming quite grating. "You have no power to remove them!"

Connell shrugged. "Take out your wand and hex me, then."

Umbridge stood. "Very well! You've asked for this." She aimed her stubby wand at Connell and said, in a high-pitched squeak, "_Stupefy_!"

Nothing happened.

Frowning slightly, Umbridge straightened up, pointed her wand again, and repeated the spell, with the same results. "_Sparcio_!" she shouted, trying the Shocking Charm. Still there was no result. The other members of the Wizengamot were beginning to mutter behind her. "Shut up! Shut UP!" she screamed back at them. "I can't concentrate!"

"No," Connell said, standing up. "Your magic powers are completely gone, Madam Auror. You're not even a Squib — you have no more magical ability than the average human. Now sit down."

"What about my —"

"I said _sit down_," Connell said, forcefully, and Umbridge immediately complied, looking cowed. "Now, members of the august Wizengamot, I hope you will agree that our actions were undertaken with the best of intentions towards all witches and wizards, both in Britain and abroad. There are several million of you here on Terra, along with perhaps a million more non-magical people related to Muggle-borns, and their families. If anyone wishes to return to Earth, they will be allowed to leave, but if they have magical ability it will be forfeit, so that the governments of Earth have no reason to hold anyone for medical or any other type of research, nor any physical evidence that wizards actually existed.

"We have relocated all of your magical locations and buildings, such as the Hogwarts school, to Terra, and removed all enchantments from all objects left on Earth. Those of you who might wish to return would find no evidence of real magic there, nor would you be able to produce magic yourself. It is up to you whether you return, but you will live the rest of your lives there like the rest of the population — as normal humans."

Fudge looked to be in a state of shock. Amelia Bones leaned forward and said, in her booming voice, "I'm sure everyone here appreciates your and Harry's efforts, Mr. Connell. Perhaps it was just the abruptness with which they happened that appeared arbitrary to some members of the Wizengamot. I'm sure that the Minister understands your position now." She glanced over at Fudge, who stared back at her helplessly, still not knowing what to say.

"I understand," Connell nodded. "I'm glad we have come to an agreement." He glanced at Fudge. "Do _you_ agree, Minister?"

Fudge looked completely defeated. "Er — well, er — yes — yes, I suppose so," he finally said, mumbling so softly that some of the Wizengamot in the back benches were craning their necks to hear him. "It's not as if any of us really wanted to go back to Earth, really..."

"Very good," Connell said, smiling and turning to Harry. "Shall we go, then, Harry?" Harry nodded and stood as well.

They were about to disappear when Umbridge suddenly screeched, "Wait! What about my magic?!"

Connell looked up at her, and appeared about to say something when Harry spoke over him. "Why don't we put it to a vote?"

Umbridge blanched. "A _vote_?!" she said loudly, outrage in her voice.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking at the other members. "Everyone in favor of Dolores Jane Umbridge having her magical powers returned to her, raise your hands."

No one in the room moved. Harry looked around; he could see shock and surprise on almost every face, though a few, like Madam Bones, he thought, also had a quirk on their lips, as if they were smirking. "Well?" he said, gesturing as if he was about to raise his own hand. "Anyone?"

When it became obvious he was serious, Umbridge's hand immediately shot into the air, and she looked around the room wildly, trying to urge others to vote as well. "Well?!" she screeched, "get your hands up! Cornelius, please! You too!" She angrily nudged the smaller Malfada Hopkirk sitting next to her, who dutifully (though slowly) raised her hand. A few other hands in the room began to go up, but as their owners saw what little support Umbridge had, they quickly lowered them.

"Let's see, now," Harry said, looking at the group with one finger raised, as if starting to count many hands, but then said, "one…two…_three_. Three it is, then. Those against?"

Roughly half the members in the room raised their hands immediately. Harry looked as if he was counting, but there was no need. He smiled.

"Looks like the nays have it," he said to Umbridge, with mock sympathy. "Sorry."

"But — but you can't do this to me!" Umbridge protested, her eyes practically bugging out of her face. "I — I can't be a Muggle! I can't!" But the rest of the Wizengamot, Fudge included, had stood and were exiting the courtroom, leaving her alone.

Connell looked at Harry "_Don't you think we should restore her powers_?" he asked, using enhanced Leglimency so she couldn't hear them.

"_Maybe_," Harry replied, with a mental shrug. "_We can let her have a taste of being a normal human for a while, and see if it helps her understanding about them_." They both disappeared.

A moment later twin flashes of light appeared in Professor Dumbledore's office, and he looked up from a book he was reading to see Harry and Connell standing before him. "Hello! How did the meeting with the Wizengamot go?" the headmaster politely inquired.

"Good," Harry said. "They came round to our point of view pretty quickly, sir."

"I am glad to hear it," Dumbledore said, standing and walking to a window looking out over the countryside west of Hogwarts Castle. "It is quite amazing, if one really thinks about it — an entire world of our own, one where magic need not be practiced in secret, but can be professed openly and for the benefit of all. I think that quite outweighs the risk of future shock Earth and Terra may undergo when we encounter each other once again, someday."

"I hope so, Professor," Connell said. "You all have quite a lot of hard work ahead of you, to make this world your own."

"Yes," Dumbledore smiled. "It's exciting, isn't it, Harry?"

Harry nodded, but said, "I've had quite of bit of excitement already, these past few months." Both Connell and Dumbledore chuckled at this.

"But you did quite well, Harry," Connell said, placing a hand on his shoulder, like a big brother. "Again, I'm glad that my initial impression of you made me give you the Star Brand, and proud of how you've handled yourself with it."

"Thanks," Harry said, and the three of them looked out over the Englishe countryside for some time. Finally, Harry turned to Connell and said, "So, now what?"

Connell grinned down at him. "You first. Will you go back to school when it starts again?"

Harry glanced at Professor Dumbledore, who was giving him a look of curious interest. "I don't think so," he said, shaking his head. "I can probably be more helpful in other ways here on Terra, with my abilities, than spending the next three years taking classes to learn what I already know now."

"Very good, Harry," Dumbledore said, quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder. Harry turned to him. "I'm glad to see you understand when you no longer need the reassurance of familiarity and routine. I'm sure many new and exciting experiences are awaiting you, out there."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, feeling a surge of real affection for his headmaster; though he'd felt less than friendly toward him in the past, Harry realized that Dumbledore had never tried to make his life more difficult — sometimes it had just turned out that way. "I may still come back and see you every so often, sir, to see how things are going."

"I would enjoy that very much, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling.

Harry turned back to Connell. "Okay, now what about you — are you staying with us?"

Connell looked thoughtful for a moment, but shook his head, just as Harry had moments earlier. "No, I had something else in mind," he said.

"What's that?" Harry wanted to know. "Are you going to try and find your way home?"

"I thought about that," Connell said. "And about seeing if I could find out what happened to Maddy, but it's been so long since I've seen either her or my own Earth that it no longer seems that important to me.

"One thing I can have now," he continued, "is a world much like the one I left — your former world. I'm thinking, Harry, I can go and help the people there, protect them against natural disasters and the like — all behind the scenes, of course, so they won't be too suspicious. And I can be your eyes and ears on that world, keeping a lookout for any witches or wizards that may be born there, perhaps preparing them and their families to come live here on Terra, once it's time for them to go to a wizarding school."

"That makes sense," Harry said. "I suppose witches and wizards can still be born on Earth even if the alien probe is no longer scanning it."

"Right," Connell said. He stuck out his hand, and he and Harry shook hands goodbye. "Keep in touch, Harry. Remember, I'm only a moment away, if you need me." Nodding to Dumbledore, Connell vanished in a flash of white light.

Harry nodded to Dumbledore as well, then turned to go, but the headmaster stopped him with a look. "Harry, what _do_ you intend to do now, with your powers?" he asked, his eyes looking into Harry's searchingly.

"Really? Actually, I don't know," Harry said candidly. "I thought about making this place a paradise, the perfect place to live, and avoid the mistakes Ken made when he created his world. But…"

Harry shook his head, then looked up into Dumbledore's eyes again. "But I dunno…it — it seems all I'd be doing is fulfilling some kind of personal fantasy. I — I might create paradise for myself, but I don't know about anyone else…"

It was the greatest fear Harry had about the Star Brand power — what if he began to abuse it again, the way he had when he'd first gotten it? It had been all too easy to justify, in his own mind, the brutality he subjected Lucius Malfoy to, and Voldemort's murder, as reasonable as they had seemed at the time. He looked away from the professor, embarrassed, and the old wizard put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"As long as you can ask yourself that question, Harry, I believe you will answer it correctly," Dumbledore told him. "Now, speaking of 'anyone else,' have you talked to either Ron Weasley or Miss Granger lately?"

"Uh —" Harry glanced away, not wanting to admit he'd sort of been avoiding both of them. He'd been very grateful to Hermione for thinking so affectionately of him in the graveyard in Godric's Hollow; he'd felt her compassion, her deep friendship for him, and it had helped him focus his thoughts back into the real world. She had brought him back from wherever he'd gone. It would seem cruel now for him to tell her that he was not really ready for a commitment with her — with anyone, for that matter — beyond being friends.

But whether through Leglimency or simply a lifetime of human experience, Dumbledore must've discerned his emotions and said, gently, "It's alright, Harry — go and talk to them. Be their friend. I think, in the end, that is what they really need from you."

Harry nodded, murmuring, "Thank you," and turned to leave, but hesitated a moment, then turned back to the headmaster.

"Sir," he said, "I wonder if you would do something for me?"

"Of course, dear boy," Dumbledore said, "If I am able — though I daresay you are far more capable than I am some things now."

"Well, that's just it," Harry said, holding out his right palm, so that the symbol there was visible to both of them. "Will you tell the Wizengamot that Ken Connell took back the Star Brand when he left, making me normal again?"

"You wish me to lie to the Wizengamot?" Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded. "I do not necessarily have a problem with that, Harry," the headmaster went on, "but I wonder what it is you wish to accomplish with this lie?"

"I suppose," Harry said, staring at the Brand, "I want things to be normal again — at least, as normal as they can be, now that all of the Wizarding world has relocated to another planet and everything has changed from the way it used to be, including Voldemort no longer being around.

"If I still have the Star Brand, every wizarding government on Terra will soon be asking me to do something or other them — the Wizengamot had an agenda to set itself up as the primary government on Terra — and I don't want to do things just for one government or another. I want to do things that will help _everyone_ on Terra, not just a select group."

"That is indeed a wise course of action," Dumbledore agreed. "I believe I can accept that, Harry." He chuckled. "I will discuss it in our next, and perhaps final, meeting of the Order of the Phoenix; it can be arranged for that news to get back to the Ministry, and I will not have to tell the Wizengamot a direct falsehood. It will be our little secret from now on." The old wizard pointed to the Star Brand on Harry's palm. "Do you think you can contrive to hide or disguise that symbol, so no one will see it by accident?"

"I think so," Harry said, smiling, and slid his hand into the seat of his pants, where he transferred the Brand to his right buttock. "I don't think anyone's likely to see it there."

"I expect not," Dumbledore agreed. "Just don't be too cheeky about it."

Harry stared at the headmaster for a minute, then laughed and left his office, walking along corridors and staircases until he reached the Gryffindor common room, where he knew Ron and Hermione were at the moment. When he realized he did not know the current password, Harry "cheated" and made a mental suggestion to one of the first years in the common room with them, to come out into the hallway for a moment. Once there, the first year "forgot" what he'd come out for, shrugged, and gave the password to go back into the common room, just as Harry walked up to the portrait.

"Hold that door," Harry called, as the first year climbed through the hole. He stepped through, after the first year, and saw Ron and Hermione sitting together at one of the tables, Harry walked over to join them. Hermione was reading a book and sipping on a cup of tea; Ron had set up a game of wizard's chess and was studying potential moves. They looked up at his approach and both smiled nervously.

"All right there?" Ron asked, as he sat down next to him, lightly punching Harry's arm.

"No problem," Harry said, looking at both of them. Hermione had an expression on her face that would have been unreadable to Harry before he possessed the Star Brand; now, however, he knew she was wondering what _he_ was thinking about the two of them. "How are you two doing?" he asked, knowing everything that had gone on between them during his months in the ground, when he'd read Hermione's thoughts shortly after waking up.

"Uh —" they both looked at each other, then back at Harry. "Fine," Ron said. "Everything's fine."

"Yes," Hermione agreed immediately. "Fine. Really, we're fine."

Harry nodded. He could have delved into their minds and found out the truth with the power of the Star Brand, but his friends deserved to have their secrets, just as he had his. "That's cool," he said. "I'm glad things are good."

"How did the hearing at the Ministry go?" Hermione asked. "That was scheduled for today, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "They eventually saw things Connell's and my way."

"Brilliant!" Ron cheered. "So now, you and he are going to run the planet, right?"

"Er —" Harry feigned hesitation. "Well, not exactly. I had Connell take back the Star Brand." He held up his right hand, showing them his bare palm. "I'm back to the way I was before I met him — well, minus the bit of Voldemort's soul that was stuck in here." He pointed to his lightning scar.

"Oh my goodness, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "You gave it up? You really gave up the Star Brand?"

"Merlin's pants, Harry!" Ron said disbelievingly. "How could you just give back something like that?!"

"I just realized," Harry said slowly, looking back and forth between them, "that I couldn't handle being that powerful, if that meant losing your friendships."

Hermione smiled, and Ron clapped Harry on the back. "Not bloody likely, mate," Ron told him firmly. "Not after everything we've been through together!"

Harry managed a small smile. "So — it's okay with you if I'm just plain Harry Potter again?"

"Hell yeah," Ron said, giving Harry a look suggesting such a question need not even be asked.

"Of course it is!" Hermione said, echoing Ron's sentiments. "Are you coming back to Hogwarts? Of course you are! It'll be wonderful having you back again!"

"I'll say!" Ron agreed. "Just think," he grinned, "now you can sit with Hermione in the stands and cheer _me_ on at Quidditch!"

Harry laughed and looked at Hermione, who was smiling bemusedly at him. "I think I'll like that," he beamed, knowing what he meant was unclear.

Perhaps it would be better in the long run, Harry hoped, if no one on Terra knew he still had the Star Brand except for Professor Dumbledore. If there was anything this planet needed, he could provide it, but he would not do so as Harry Potter; things like that could be handled in secret, just as Kenneth Connell would be doing back on Earth. For now, he would be just another wizard in this brave new world they had been given. Together, with his friends and the rest of the (now, _truly_) Wizarding World, they would make this the best of all possible places to live.

**Author's End Notes: I left the storyline open in case I decide to revisit Harry Potter and the Star Brand at some point in the future. It's also possible that planet Terra could be an interesting environment, since the magicals are four times as numerous as the non-magicals. I suppose I wonder if normal people on a world like this would try to get their kids married to a witch or wizard, so that their descendants would tend to be magicals.**


End file.
